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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29332353">a battle of bands</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphskies/pseuds/sapphskies'>sapphskies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stray Kids (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Strong Language, emo jisung !!!, long chapters !!, lots of music-based imagery, red guitar sorry given stans, slightly suggestive themes at times, soft hyunie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:20:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>27,339</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29332353</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphskies/pseuds/sapphskies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>•̩̩͙⍣⁺ han jisung will herald his devotions, only towards that<br/>of which he holds the greatets fortifications for,<br/>the last thing he'll want is to be trampled by a bass player with black highlights and an insincere grin.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Han Jisung | Han/Hwang Hyunjin, Kim Seungmin/Seo Changbin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. SYNOPSIS + INTRODUCTIONS</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>↳</strong> While through swift knowledge of the begrudgement through which we base the lives of most upper echelon societies - i say, with knowledge of my own hypocrisies -, i must concur that no story wiles curious eyes or stupificates close followers than that of Hwang Hyunjin and Han Jisung’s. My utter condolences to anyone that has had to witness their train wreck first-hand, and that would indeed include myself.</p>
  <p>
    <em>- <b>Kim Seungmin</b>, member of band duo ‘Mystery Twins’ , Chief editor and writer of the school newsletter</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <hr/>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>
  <strong>↳ INTRODUCING:</strong>
</p><p>◛↷ <strong>3RACHA !</strong></p><p>
  <strong>  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>◛↷ <strong>SPI3Z</strong></p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p><strong>◛</strong>↷ <strong>MYSTERY TWINS:</strong></p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. han jisung hates hwang hyunjin, hwang hyunjin hates han jisung</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>  </b> <b></b></p><p><b>Han Jisung</b> thinks he feels bad for school janitors. Their job and all that it entailed was a hard and arduous enough truth as it is, where they had to ensure that the grounds (and walls, and ceilings) of entire school buildings were left perfectly clean. Of course, they often weren’t able to do exactly that, but this only seemed to further reinforce the weight of teenage students’ procreation of strange, questionable clutter.</p><p>From wet tissues practically glued to bathroom ceilings, to bodily spit leaped into odd corners, perhaps when a group of straight boys tried to rank their spit capacity – yes, Jisung has actually overheard this exact occurrence not once, not twice, but thrice. Three times too many.</p><p>As if the endurance of the outright nauseating nature through which most high school students seemed to live, wasn’t enough, Han Jisung feels terribly sorry for them, because the closets from which they wheeled their cleaning supplies in and out, had become associated with the ungodly acts of horny teenagers, beyond feasible reprimand.</p><p>The very idea that rings and reverberates past and through the walls surrounding his brain, the one that almost persuades the boy to outwardly laugh at his situation, whenever he finds himself in one of those very closets with<em> Hwang Hyunjin </em>. Hwang Fucking Hyunjin – that was his middle name –, the boy that strutted down halls like it was a runaway and flicked his hair like a camera was on him at all times. And while he hadn’t been one to judge off of initial observation, Hyunjin, throughout the two years he’d known him, had not, at any point, shown himself worthy of fair judgement.</p><p>Given that the pair had started off terribly, neither saw it necessary to ‘mend’ whatever had promptly broken off a potential bond. Hyunjin had, within a short amount of time, ensured his position as Han Jisung’s mortal rival remained fixated. It was an odd, unhealthy sort of rival-rival relationship, some would say. Jisung almost felt jealous whenever he saw Hyunjin picking fights with anyone other than him.</p><p>At the end of the day, no one could steal that spot, not when Hwang Hyunjin had committed a highly offensive crime against his name and position: First of all, him and Minho had taken to starting up their own band, likely after observation of the positive affirmation 3racha had built. Second of all, all three of its representatives had been within their school’s performance-based department. Although the school offered a slew of different classes, almost all of which pertained to Performing Arts, students were still entitled to specialize in specific sectors and electives based on expertise.</p><p>Even then, the rise of 3racha’s reign was what had landed them massive headlines in the school’s newsletter, and what had almost immediately ensured their endemic security for as long as they liked the idea of maintaining their positions in a band.</p><p>Jisung never wanted to sound arrogant in his admissions, but he’d also felt it was only fair to convey his pridefulness to its fullest extent when, if time reversed to just before they’d been accepted into the very school they resided in now, Jisung would’ve been entirely aghast to hear that he’d come to regularly hear his name whispered amongst bubbles of chatter and gossip.</p><p>When 3racha first came to be, within its very first breaths, as you can imagine, their situation did not extend to nearly as much fortune. Pictured - through a rusty polaroid, for imagery - three teenagers, just barely able to handle the woes of their regular learning environments, slugging over a mysterious yellow couch with numerous stains and an actual spot in the middle where one of it’s springs had completely sprung out, within the darkness of a garage.</p><p>Said garage was only ever really completely alight during the daytime, when its cold ground and crummy walls absorbed the light from the sun that never stayed up for them for terribly long because the three usually practiced and played much past its time of setting.</p><p>And that’s all they did, really. Wrote, arranged, practiced, repeat. It wasn’t, by any means, a nuisance, for all three had initially taken up the mutual interest of pursuing the beautiful, musical precisions of band performance.</p><p>After all, that was their area of expertise; the linguistics of instrument-playing. That was what 3racha had set their eyes on studying over extensively, refusing to skim, refusing to, for lack of better word, half-ass the complete extent of each and every splinter it was made up of. They roamed their steely fingertips over its surface with the utmost of care and rammed their hearts into each and every one of the instruments that lived within the walls of that garage.</p><p>The trio never did have it easy, but even as they finally gained notoriety for their work, and even as they finally felt the heavy brute of unease lift off of their shoulders, wherein a new venture planted itself, they remain as humble as they possibly can. It’s quite humbling, Jisung thinks, on its own, to still find himself back at that garage, back to those instruments, back to cheap dinner, back to easy laughs, an easy air.</p><p>Professional, sizable studios were an amazing privilege and the three were immensely thankful for being able to utilize them as often as they do, but they’d all know when it was time to leave their stifling surroundings, and come back home, where certain tracks needed its heart to prevail.</p><p>And even still, a small sheet remains stuck to the corkboard they’d somehow managed to put up a couple of years back, and their signatures and lines from those many years back, are still finely imprinted on top, in unprecedented genuineness. The smell of its ink alone is pungent enough to place a smile on Jisung’s face in tribute to the memories it attaches to.</p><p>His words read out, as clear as day:<em> They will remember my name. (Han Jisung, not J.One) (I don’t think I’d like being remembered as J.One) </em></p><p>3racha’s inevitable influence was susceptible to generating fresh incentives within certain students, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when Lee Minho, renowned dancer from dance practice room C31, had also been stepping up to formulate a group with Hwang Hyunjin confirmed as a member. Most – including Jisung – assumed that when they’d made their debut on a public stage, that they’d be equipped with arrangements for a dance routine or two.</p><p>What no one could’ve anticipated, however, was to see each and every one of the three walk out with instruments to be set up for a band performance stage. Jisung distinctly remembers the twitch of his eyes whenever Hyunjin himself, who’d been lugging his bass around like it was a toy, winks at his appalled expression amongst the many in the audience. He’d never wanted to punch a pretty face so badly.</p><p>As far as the origin story went, although Minho can’t say his was as awe-spiring as 3racha’s rags-to-riches-esque tale, he does vividly remember the first time he’d ever considered Hyunjin for the post. It was an odd occurrence, when he’d shown up to their usual dance practice room, only to stumble upon a spontaneous bass riff Hyunjin had been going over.</p><p>It was funny how terrible Hyunjin’s luck was – or, in this case, it had actually done some good for him –, seeing as he’d been in that room going over new steps when he’d finally decided he’d pull his trusty instrument out under the pretence that no one would be around to scare him away into hiding for a probable forever.</p><p>Unfortunately, Lee Minho had shown up just 10 minutes into his one-audience performance – the man in front of him, reflected over the mirror –, which does almost scare Hyunjin into hiding for a probable forever, but then the boy opts for complimenting him and then swiftly following up with a: ‘Hey, wouldn’t it be cool if we started a band? Us dancers, trying something different, for once?’</p><p>Because, as it turned out, Minho had a very cool, very big, very expensive drum set waiting for him back home. Waiting to be driven to school, precisely. Waiting to settle into its new home. Waiting to acquire a much-needed band logo.</p><p>‘I seriously don’t want to waste this drum set, and if we form a band, I get an excuse to use it, like, almost every day.’</p><p>‘Why did you buy it in the first place?’ Hyunjin remembers asking. Hyunjin also remembers regretting asking.</p><p>Hyunjin also distinctively remembers declining such an offer, numerous times, only to grow sick of Minho’s over-exaggerations in his ‘observations’, one example of which might’ve included:</p><p>
  <em> ‘Oh hey,’ Minho’s hands brandish a pair of drumsticks, one in either hand, his eyes boring into Hyunjin’s testingly. The latter holds his guitar case in one firm hand, barely able to hold back from a slow eye-roll ‘look at us. A couple of dancers, a couple of guys, a couple of dudes. Holding instrument-adjacent obje–,’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘Instrument-adjacent? I don’t think that’s how that works.’ </em>
</p><p>Needless to say, Lee Minho was proud to finally crack through to Hyunjin’s Stubborn Ass when he managed to convince him to join him for a ‘practice session’ in one of the school’s extravagant production studios. Although Hyunjin was, of course, still adamant on the fact that he’d just been giving it a try, and that the entire band premise would be a simple pastime rather than semblative of the brand 3racha had managed to build.</p><p>Before that sentiment could be reached, however, Minho had already been recruiting Lee Felix, who he’d practically spied on for a week from a crack in the practice room door, all because he’d garnered sight of his ‘Bongo Cat Cosplay’ video on YouTube. Hyunjin had no more room to deny that they’d officially formed a band; the name of which became inspired by a show Felix often played in the background of their attempted practices.</p><p>
  <em> ‘Hyunjin, you’re such a clover, you can’t even deny it.’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘I’ve no idea what that means, Felix.’ </em>
</p><p>It was a tough jolt to overcome, when they’d switched from their usual, grey-walled environment, for that of 4 red walls, delicate machinery, and lots of buttons Hyunjin did not initially believe he’d ever fathom the function of. Eventually, through great perseverance, the three seemed to finally come to a consensus on what kind of sounds they wanted to tackle, and from which direction.</p><p>It doesn’t take long until three dancers are able to make a hearth out of the studios with complicated buttons and a red pungency.</p><p>And as soon as the air within the school had shifted entirely, the two bands seemed to constantly be pit against one another in any sense of the matter. The beginnings of the strange dichotomy of wits against competitiveness was established, and chatter naturally followed the ebb and flow of entertainment. It just so happened that this came in the form of band rivalry.</p><p>The first time this matter seemed to be made clear to the subsequent groups was when Minho had walked to Chan’s locker to ask if he’d received word of schedule changes, only to be heavily intercepted by a large group of people roaming the halls, as if awaiting a fight to break out.</p><p>Kim Seungmin, the school newsletter’s chief editor and writer, remembers how silly it was, to be coerced by masses of plagued students, to write about either group or their minute interactions like they were celebrities. He had to incessantly remind them that they’d been at a school. Yes, quite a special one, but it was still a school.</p><p>It started as a minor annoyance, through which he’d ramble on to Jeongin, who unwillingly listened, about how stupid it was that they’d be enticed to write ridiculous, performative stories when half the student body never even tuned in to his ‘The Melody Chronicles’ sections.</p><p>
  <em> It was more than half, probably. </em>
</p><p>As far as minor annoyances went, Jeongin was sure he’d been hearing about it entirely too much for his liking ‘Seung, if you’re that frustrated about it, why not just start your own band to…prove a point…or whatever stupid shit you usually spout.’</p><p>With dismissal of that last part, Seungmin had actually considered the prospect. That was, until he’d realised how strenuous it would be to find possible members that would both fit his personality and sense of musical direction. It was only when Jeongin joked that he’d likely be stuck with him that he realises the weight of those words.</p><p>He’d be stuck with Jeongin. Interesting, he thinks.</p><p>After one gruelling Gravity Falls marathon and two full weeks of incessant persuasion, the Mystery Twins were birthed, and Seungmin’s vendetta seemed to fall short despite the fact that he’d proven a point – which was, possibly, one of his favourite non-music related activities – because he’d found that…retiring from such a post so early on, it would be unforgivable to leave something behind before it could properly be established.</p><p>They’d find time within their schedules to branch out their ideas, and only when it started, did Seungmin realise just how many ideas, how many prospects had been roaming around in his head. No wonder the boy spent so much time mulling things over, his brain had been too condensed with free-gushing visions.</p><p>The pair worked well together, and they’d somehow established a routine that glided more easily than that of the other two formulated groups. Concept, melody, composition, words. Sometimes, it was concept, words, melody, composition.</p><p>Not so fortunately, however, Seungmin had practically hung him and Jeongin over flames to become new bait, for through their final formation, a new school culture had been established. A culture through which citizens had to divide themselves amongst three concise groups that stuck to one of three unsuspecting bands.</p><p>3racha were for closeted gays that thought bragging about their non-existent love life would increase their social standing.</p><p>Spi3z were for the sexually active theatre kids that often found themselves contemplating the gloom of their daily lives – they also almost always dressed amazingly.</p><p>Mystery Twins were for students that ensured that everyone knew they were more mature than they seem. Occasionally, it was someone that didn’t want to stick to the more ‘popular’ options above.</p><p>Of course, these are simply brash generalizations, and Jisung himself didn’t want to believe that every single one of their admirers were gay – until, that is, he’d talked to some individually and felt his gaydar spring up exponentially.</p><p>Generalizations and obsessive partitioning aside, the groups themselves were rarely at each other’s necks save for light-hearted wisecracks or intents to beat one another for higher rankings in seasonal showcases or smaller events. Seeing as there was no shortage of performance-based learning within their institution, the three groups did find themselves crossing paths often, so light rivalry was inevitable, and most of their individual members welcomed such competitiveness willingly, seeing as it helped to better hone their skills.</p><p>The exception, the vast exception, however, came in the form of Han Jisung and Hwang Hyunjin. Just as we’d left them, they’d been trapped in a janitor’s closet together, which given the context thus far, should sound odd to the average reader.</p><p>So where did it start, precisely? What had landed them in that small, confined space, when they avoided one other’s existence like the bubonic plague? – unless and until they received the chance to berate one another, of course, because apparently enemies lingered in each other’s minds far more than you’d expect them to.</p><p>To understand the lore of the utter stupidity that persuaded Hyunjin and Jisung to land themselves in such a predicament, however, we’ll need to begin somewhere important. A very important point in this timeline of events.</p><p>Jisung precisely remembers waking up that day feeling incredibly off, and never had he trusted a gut feeling so surely, until that day. Then again, a massive contributing factor could’ve been the fact that he’d broken his favourite candle upon reaching for his phone on his bedside table to silence its shrewd alarm. He also remembers Changbin’s very discouraging tone when he’d berated him on the phone while he rushed getting ready to avoid yet another tardy slip – he still ended up late.</p><p>‘Sung, I know it’s getting annoying, but it’s for your own good. Just get an android, our alarms don’t blast your ear dreams like the heathen-based ringing of that <em> fucking </em> iPhone.’ Changbin’s shrill voice sounds out from his phone, that had now been tossed over his undone sheets while he scrambled to pull his jeans up.</p><p>‘You should’ve stopped at your acknowledgement of the fact that it’s getting annoying. It’s <em> gotten </em> annoying, Changbin, it’s gotten annoying.’</p><p>Despite the sharp breaks he yields to take in gasps of air between his words, Jisung hopes his message is still relayed clearly as his hands haphazardly scrounging for a very particular belt – surely, he knows Changbin would insult him for complaining about being nearly late while also spending an inordinate amount of time on his outfit, but as he always said, there was always ample time when it came to his clothing.</p><p>‘Plus!’ Jisung adds in, holding in his delight when he finally finds the belt; it’s entirely black, except for a small, pink heart-shaped gemstone that sits at its center ‘In what universe would a<em> calming </em> alarm wake me the fuck up?’</p><p>Even Doctor Strange wouldn’t be able to find such a reality.</p><p>‘Oh, because the fucking banshee scream you listen to everyday wakes you up perfectly fine, hm?’ Changbin retaliates. Jisung hears the semblance of another voice within the line, likely Chan, but he’s too busy fumbling with his belt’s buckle to confirm so.</p><p>‘Whatever,’ Is all Jisung can manage to mutter ‘I’m hanging up, I’ll be there at–,’</p><p>A pause.</p><p>‘maybe…10 minutes?’</p><p>‘I think we all know that’s not true, Sung.’</p><p>Again, Jisung dismisses the boy’s words, slugging himself forward after fitting his fingerless gloves over his hands with his teeth, to briefly end the call after sounding out a hurried ‘See you!’</p><p>And just like that, the silence in the air remains stagnating, and Jisung is left to make nothing of the burdensome tightening in his chest. Instead, he takes one last gander over his appearance through a full-length mirror – cleaning it sounded like the right choice but Jisung always found cleaning to be so utterly arduous –, peering down at his layered, black-dominant tops, tapping his conversed feet over the ground a few times while he peered into every small detail.</p><p> As he usually found himself doing, he pats at the puffy tufts of colour in his hair, their fluff having not settled since his persistent, nightly tossing and turning. Maintaining pretty, vibrant strands within the abyss of his blonde was always fun, and all, but it was not always the most convenient when it came to styling and settlement. As they were right now, the blue and red mixed with the blonde through dishevelment, but Jisung didn’t have time to dwell on that before he was rushing downstairs and keying it to his forlorn, small vehicle.</p><p>And, even as he rams his keys into his car, waiting for its engine to start, hearing it release a few tired puffs of wretched air before finally kicking alive, Han Jisung still manages to contradict himself when he moves his mirror down again to soften down his misplaces strands, and spends a good 2 minutes looking for the right playlist to jam out to for the 10-minute car ride to school.</p><p>It’s then, that Jisung starts to realise just why he was almost always late for school. Still, it sounded too cool to say that he was, once again, fashionably late.</p><p>His seemingly polar opposite – even though it’s far from the truth – but definite enemy, Hwang Hyunjin, on the contrary, is in the midst of balancing piles of messy music sheets he’d forgotten to leave at his locker the day prior, while he mindlessly files out of recording studio A16.</p><p>Amidst his scramble, he barely registers the eyes following him from different corners within the hall. Surely, it was normal for the boy to garner attention based on status and the way social hierarchies were built and subsequently maintained, but even then, their eyes make Hyunjin feel like he’d been responsible for some great misdemeanour.</p><p>Then again, that was possible as well. He still vividly remembers the time he’d accidentally thrown his trash into Han Jisung’s direction – yes, it had actually been an accident – through terrible aiming. Needless to say, Jisung had refused to believe his defences, and had somehow gotten a mini ‘interview’ in with one of the Newsletter Committee members. Thankfully, it wasn’t Kim Seungmin, seeing as dragging in all three groups into one tiny mistake would’ve created an even bigger mess.</p><p>Hierarchies sure were odd when you were in a school band.</p><p>Even then, Hyunjin attempts to dismiss it, but as his eyes finally trail over that of the students that had been eyeing him before, when his feet finally stop in front of his custom locker, he notices it.</p><p>They’re all gripping onto the school newsletter for the month like it would somehow revive their insatiable souls from whatever pit they’d fallen into, and their eyes seem to be glued over the same page. That only meant one thing; gossip material had been published again.</p><p>Although they only remain suspicions for now, Hyunjin can’t help but heavily sigh into the open air, the furrow of his eyebrows perfectly representative of his distaste for this part of the entire band experience. It was a school band. They were, quite literally, band geeks. Then again, he can understand harbouring a thirst for something to fuel the lives of otherwise sad, mopey teenagers.</p><p>That came out a lot harsher than he’d expected.</p><p>Hyunjin seems to be so within his head, however, that as his eyes land over the time on his phone – 5 minutes till first period –, he doesn’t seem to take notice of the smaller figure rushing from the same corner he’d been about to round. He doesn’t notice, but the students around him seem to do. And they make it very clear.</p><p>Because Hyunjin had just bumped into Han Jisung. How lovely.</p><p>Again, it’s not odd that everyone around them seems to stop and stare over their figures. Sure, it was inherently odd that they were so invested in the lives of fellow pupils, but it was something they’d become accustomed to. It’s also not odd when Jisung shoves back at Hyunjin’s chest, ensuring that there’s a decent space between them.</p><p>Hyunjin chooses not to comment on the flicker of shock that had sat within his eyes, or the hitch of his breath, or the fact that he’d tried to grab onto his arms out of instinct. He didn’t have to, after all, Jisung’s face was destined to morph into one of great distaste when those yes landed over his. A wide jolt of surprise mutating into a piercing, deliberate glare. One that he was all too familiar with.</p><p>‘Watch where you’re going, Hwang. Some of us have classes to be in.’</p><p>Hyunjin’s close inspections are completely abandoned for disbelief when he scoffs into the air, uncaring of the surrounding faces that suddenly tuned in on their small quarrel. ‘That doesn’t even make sense, just let me pass,’</p><p>Hyunjin only ends up being pushed back, yet again. This time infuriates him more than the last time, and again, uncaring of the faces that continued to grow in number with the passage of each second, he grabs at the boy’s wrist and wrenches it off.</p><p>‘What the hell is your problem?’</p><p>Before he can say much, however, Jisung seems to falter under the bleakness of the surrounding stares. Before Hyunjin can dismiss his behaviour for its usually aloof nature, Jisung grabs for his wrist, barely leaving a moment for retaliation, and swoops him into a nearby closet, fumbling to lock the door at record speed.</p><p>‘What the–,’ Hyunjin tries to move past the shorter boy, yet again, but before he can yell out anymore atrocities, his voice is muffled by the stringy mesh of Jisung’s fishnet gloves when one hand pressed over his mouth. Jisung can still hear a multitude of swear words and other unkind phrases, only they’re quite muffled now. He almost wants to take the moment to relish in the quiet.</p><p>‘Just– Shh, they’re probably right outside, don’t shout– Stay still– Ow!’ Jisung doesn’t know how he couldn’t have anticipated it when Hyunjin had resorted to biting into the slightly exposed skin of his hand. After all, Hyunjin always smelled like dog saliva. <em> No comment. </em></p><p>‘Did you just bite me?!’</p><p>‘I think it’s only fair following a kidnapping!’ Hyunjin exclaims, attempting to reach for the door again, only to be pushed back by a disgruntled Jisung, yet again. Amidst their wrestling, they manage to knock back into the door, making it shake and definitely altering anyone who was right outside.</p><p>After the first few, initial seconds of silence, through which either boy stays incredibly still after having realised this, the shrill sound of the bell ringing frightens them into jumping. Again, their weight knocks into the door and causes it to jitter. Hyunjin grimaces, but just as quickly as they’d been made silent, he’s eyes glower into Jisung’s again, and it’s all he can do not to commit a homicide at that very moment.</p><p>‘Look, just listen. I just wanted to know what the fuck it is that you did, ok? I would’ve been civil, but frankly I’m tired of your bullshit!’ Jisung manages to heave out, moving away from the door that had cost them <em> twice </em> now.</p><p>‘What did <em> I </em> do?’ Hyunjin disbelievingly questions ‘I’m not the one that started a scene in front of an entire hall of students.’</p><p>‘Before that, you fucktard! Everyone had their eyes glued to the stupid newsletter, and someone asked whether we’d mended our ties. So, again, I ask, what did you do?’</p><p>‘Nothing!’ Hyunjin defends, exasperated, tired, and ever-furious for the fact that he’d been made late because of some emo kid that looked like a rat ‘I didn’t do shit, Han Jisung! So maybe, think back to what<em> you </em> might have done?’</p><p>‘I’m pretty sure I haven’t done shit, I’m too busy nowadays to even consider it,’ Jisung exasperates, groaning before reaching for the phone in his hoodie’s pocket ‘I’m reading whatever that piece is and proving you wrong.’</p><p>‘I’ll probably read it quicker,’ Hyunjin grabs for his own phone, choosing to dismiss Jisung’s quiet ‘Fuck you’.</p><p>And so, as the two could never, absolutely ever, pass up the chance for a nice competition, they’d attempted to skim over the words as quickly as their eyes could allow it. Unfortunately for either of them, the shock that ripples through their bodies and the clear astonishment woven within their increasingly widening eyes, is enough to make them completely forget about their previous motivations.</p><p>Because, oh god, it’s so much worse than either of them could’ve ever imagined.</p><p>‘What. The. Fuck. Is. This.’ Is all Hyunjin can manage out, his patched breath evident between each emphasized pause.</p><p>‘I don’t know, I was going to ask you.’ Jisung mutters, his eyes meeting Hyunjin’s from across the tiny closet. Now, neither of them seems to gain the courage to begin a glare-down.</p><p>‘It says…Bang Chan,’ Hyunjin stares, voice dazed, as if he’d entered a different orbit of existence ‘that’s <em> your </em>member. You should know about this.’</p><p>‘But– I don’t.’ Jisung answers, truthfully, for once, his voice just as dazed ‘Chan didn’t…he didn’t mention this.’</p><p>‘No, no, no, this can’t be real,’ Hyunjin grasps at his fallen over strands, the black mixing into the blonde in messy bunches ‘joint alliance? That sounds like a nightmare.’</p><p>‘Excuse you?’ Jisung crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his head to the side, edging the slightest bit closer to the other boy. ‘If anything, it’s 3racha that should be feeling the most burdened by this. How genuine can three dancers picking instruments up out of nowhere be, exactly?’</p><p>‘Oh, this again?’ Hyunjin’s shock disappears too, and just as it always does in the presence of Han Jisung, his veins flow with red-hot, liquidated fury ‘You know, you never even gave us a chance, right? And don’t make it sound like it really has to do with the music, when you can easily tolerate Felix and Minho, but constantly berate me whenever we’re within the same vicinity.’</p><p>‘Only because you make me resort to it!’ Jisung practically spits, his bit edging closer and closer to snipping Hyunjin’s misguided confidence. Again, he’s edging closer without even realising it. Hyunjin notices but doesn’t seem to want to falter away.</p><p>‘Me? Most of the time, it’s definitely you, Han. And if it’s ever me, it’s for good reason!’</p><p>‘That’s just pure bullshit.’</p><p>At that point, either pair had landed themselves exactly where they usually ended up upon breathing the same air for long enough. There never seemed to be a chance presented for reconciliations to be made.</p><p>Jisung’s heavy breath wafts over Hyunjin’s own, their fury-laced features are mere inches away, and the anger that blinds them continues to bind around them through its tantalizing stupor. It’s one simple movement, one sound, that lurches them into the position that becomes their biggest regret for the weeks to come.</p><p>They hear the lock being picked at from outside, see the doorknob twisting, and before they know it, Changbin and Chan are standing by the door, in clear view of the pair, from where the light of the hallway lighting shined upon them like a spotlight on a theatre performer. You see, it was truly the worst of moments for them to be trapped in. Because as the lock had sounded out into the tense air, Jisung had almost tripped face-first into a full bucket of mop water. On instinct – simply from the good of his heart, nothing else –, Hyunjin swiftly slips one hand over Jisung’s shoulders, and one to fall over his waist, successfully maintaining that he was to not fall and make a blasphemous fool of himself. Jisung’s own hands – also, totally instinctive – had flown up to grip onto the boy’s light-weighted sweater from the sleeves.</p><p>Their dishevelled hair, their heavy breathing, the fact that Jisung’s grasp had managed to lift Hyunjin’s sweater down one shoulder completely, the fact that his lips had also happened to be mere inches far from the newly visible skin, the fact that Hyunjin happened to be scratching at the same spot mere moments ago, briefly reddening through its sensitivity.</p><p>There truly was no way out of this one.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. han jisung thinks hwang hyunjin looks pretty sometimes, he guesses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jisung almost always makes an effort to refute the argument that places couldn’t live and breathe just as any living vessel could. Surely, it’s not an argument many have fallen under the radar of, but it’s one that he’s found himself under more times than one could imagine. ‘It’s just the memories attached to it.’ But that’s exactly how Jisung knows that this very room made up the brain of Chan’s entire house.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The brain: where eons of treasured reconciliations were stored, where the very first step in instantly grasps onto those memories and allows them to sit at the very forefront of one’s head, just to allow them the satisfaction of indulging in a familiarity that holds in fiery determination. Where hundreds – maybe thousands – of revelations were made, whether it was as simple as ‘I think I forgot to feed my dog’ or as complex and binding as ‘I think I’ve just come up with the perfect melody to kickstart this song’.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it was special in that sense because it worked silently. Never was there an exuberant thrumming echoing off of its walls, for it kept quiet, until the very end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, yes, when Jisung says he needs time for his thoughts to fully froth, it has to be within that garage, in that</span>
  <em>
    <span> very</span>
  </em>
  <span> garage, and no-place else. The only thing that made it exceptionally harder for him to establish the serenity he often did within the space, was the two boys sat in front of him. If he had the nerve, he’d find amusement in the fact that this time, it’d been them that stood in front of him, where he sat draped over their tattered couch, arms crossed, foot tapping, while their arms remained behind their backs and their eyes glued to the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Alright,’ Chan starts, only briefly daring to look up and meet Jisung’s piercing, red gaze ‘I know we should’ve consulted you before making such a big decision–,’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I think </span>
  <em>
    <span>big</span>
  </em>
  <span> is an understatement,’ Jisung presses. He looked like a child, too, if anyone was honest, getting upset at someone for eating the last of the candy left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Sung–,’ Changbin starts, this time, attempting to further explain their actions. Until, of course, Jisung cuts him off again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, seriously. Big doesn’t hold enough weight to efficiently describe the fact that your decision directly impedes </span>
  <em>
    <span>all of the progress, all of the preparations</span>
  </em>
  <span> we’ve already made for that showcase.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Look, in our defence, we didn’t know that you and Hwang Hyunjin were secretly lovers–,’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Who the fuck says lovers anymore, Chan?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘We are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>dating!’ Jisung feels his face heat up – whether it’s embarrassment from their previous predicament, pure anger, or all of the above, he wasn’t sure –, remnants from the earlier events of that day ever-prevalent as his mind’s vanguard. Jisung distinctly remembers pushing Hyunjin away, scrambling to join his friends, stomping to assert the fact that he needed answers and an explanation, desperately. Which is why there hadn’t been much time to </span>
  <em>
    <span>clear the air</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thus far, the pair’s attempts at cooling the youngest’s internal flames only extended as far as a half-assed explanation of the entire purpose of an alliance; they hadn’t decided on it out of nowhere, it had been a decision that spent much time persistent within Chan’s busy head before he finally decided to call up Seungmin and Minho to propose a joint performance. It would be a one-time event, increasing their chances of beating their biggest outside rivals (TBZ, to be more specific) as a singular entity, and it could possibly re-establish less tension and less emphasis on fragmentation within their school halls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To the 6 that had agreed upon it, it had seemed like a win-win situation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It seemed like, despite his persistence, Chan and Changbin would not eliminate the new-found notion that Hyunjin and Jisung had screwed on their thinking caps and ended their rivalry, getting together behind everyone’s back. To Jisung, they’d been entirely too quick at accepting such a horrendous idea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Look, Jisung, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, alright?’ Chan takes a spot on the couch’s arm, landing a hand over the boy’s shoulder, ignoring the strong gaze he lingers over it ‘You fought for years over one stupid misunderstanding neither of you even remember the details of, and now you’re starting to realise your real feelings. It’s alright! Sure, we would’ve been surprised at first, but it would be more of a relief than anything else.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jisung scoffs, finally swiping at the hand on his shoulder ‘I’m telling you, there’s nothing going on; I tripped, he caught me, it was just bad timing. Plus, the only feelings I’ll ever harbour for Hwang Hyunjin is pure hatred and general disgust.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘The first thing you said when you first saw him was ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Guys, new kid’s really cute, should I shoot my shot</span>
  </em>
  <span>?’ Changbin mocks the boy’s tone, rolling his eyes as he does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That was before he opened his mouth. He stopped being attractive after that.’ Jisung lies. And it’s very obvious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite Jisung staying adamant on the fact that he’d never and will never see that boy fit as a significant other, he really did look exceedingly idiotic to be openly stating that he still didn’t think of the latter as being an extremely attractive individual, especially extending off of the various occurrences in which he’s shown to oppose such a narrative.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taking the winter showcase of 2018, for example, the audience can clearly interpret for themselves, exactly how false this narrative is:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Picture this. In the midst of strong snowfall, blanketed white, and shaky nerves, concertgoers converse with one another in bustling crowds. A strongly held, lively atmosphere had already been established before any performers had even gotten the chance to make their way to the auditorium’s massive stage, which had currently been obscured by huge, red curtains.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This auditorium was, more often than not, utilized for theatre performance rather than for any of the school’s seasonal showcases. However, that year’s autumn showcase had been rescheduled to fall under the winter season, just before the holiday break, with the intent of leaving students fulfilled with an established holiday spirit before they’d eventually return following the start of a new year, the school thought it inconvenient to perform while snowfall was still at its highs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The air behind the curtains is significantly more stifling than the jovialities spreading through the air preceding them. Spi3z had been up to perform first out of in-school acts, as was customary, before any acts from neighbouring schools were to step up on stage for their own performances.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And because Jisung had, in his opinion, been cursed as a by-product of his increasingly concerning worries, he’d been shoved amongst the crew to help out with the setting up of the trio’s stage. Sure, it was childish, but seeing as Chan was too busy finalizing preparations with the mic coordinators, and Changbin was in the bathroom – allegedly –, he had no one to vent his clear frustrations to, so he’d simply huffed and puffed to himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Additionally, he just had to be posted right next to Nuisance Hwang, who’d been in the midst of tuning his bass, humming what he assumes to be the original song they’d be performing first. His foot subconsciously taps to the beat playing in his head, and Jisung finds himself drawn to the endearingly-messy doodles on the felt of his boots. It’d clearly been drawn on with marker, likely Hyunjin’s own work, seeing as Jisung had just happened to spot the boy falling under the habit of sketching rough illustrations on the corners of music sheets – Jisung had maintained a tactic of keeping his friends close and his enemies closer, there was nothing questionable there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy himself is hyper-concentrated, likely humming to subconsciously go over the song in his head while he still could – Jisung did that often, too –, a glittery pick he’d worn around his neck glistening under the few lights ahead that had been turning on and off every few seconds between routine checks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His rouge-tinted lips had been puffed out, strands of his raven hair – he’d been in the middle of growing it out –, falling over his eyes while he peered down, despite the clips attempting to secure them at either side of his head of hair. Additionally, he’d been completely oblivious to Jisung’s presence (and blatant staring) until the latter’s clumsiness becomes his downfall, yet again, when his feet accidentally knock into a pot of flowers (part of the concept, apparently), and Hyunjin turns to finally catch his gaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh? So, this whole time, behind that façade, you’ve been an admirer, hm?’ Hyunjin slyly remarks, turning his attention away from his tuner completely, the imaginary song playing in his head coming to a pause ‘I did feel like I was being watched, but I don’t think I could’ve ever expected it to be–,’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It’s not like that,’ Unfortunately, the expression of shock and embarrassment that Hyunjin had been drinking in the sight of just seconds ago had already morphed back into one of signature annoyance ‘you’re sitting on a speaker. There’s a chair right there, you idiot.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You’re a terrible liar.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wait. That wasn’t Hyunjin’s voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jisung’s eyes widen to the size of saucers, and he forces himself to shake his head out of his thoughts, as if his recollections would somehow tip out – why of all things, did his mind have to drift there, anyways?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hwang Idiot was attractive, and that was incredibly devastating, because he was also the bane of Jisung’s existence, the walking giraffe-slash-incompetency-of-the-decade. Perhaps he was going overboard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes finally glaze over Changbin’s, who’s grinning like he’d somehow cracked a code. It’s only then that Jisung comes to the realization that the pair probably wouldn’t ever believe him, even if it took months of coercion for him to try proving otherwise. It’s also then, that Jisung finds himself coming to another realization. If Dumb and Dumber truly didn’t see his own narrative fit, and they clearly hadn’t been planning on it, was there anything wrong in using it to his advantage?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There he goes again, proving his point justly. This room truly had been the ideal spot for countless revelations to have gone and to come in the unforeseeable future.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Fine,’ Jisung heaves out an incredibly heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping as his torso falls back over the yellow cushioning behind him ‘you’re right. Hyunjin and I are dating.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>-ˋˏ </span>
  <span>˚ ₊ˑ</span>
  <span>🎤</span>
  <span>ˑ₊ ˚</span>
  <span> ˎˊ-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jisung feels his heart thrashing against his chest wildly, its beats feeling patchy and disorganized in spite of the fact that he’d probably just been exaggerating its distinct drumming in his head. Can anyone really blame him? He’d just taken the chance to utter a bold-faced lie, right in front of his friends. Of course, he’d proceeded to emphasize on the fact that he’d still been frustrated with them and used that as his excuse to trek back over to the school building, where he’d confide in their usual studio – A16.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The school building always left one side, where studios and practice rooms were situated, open until the late hours of the night, except for Tuesdays, when it closed at 6pm, exactly. It likely had to do with the fact that the school often acted as the gateway into readily available occupations or internships, even though most students opted to further their learning anyways.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It ran based on a 4-year system, accepting freshmen, sophomores, juniors, and seniors, whose ages commonly ranged from 16 to 19. It felt more like a training facility than anything else, but as long as Jisung could tell his parents that he’d be pursuing his passion whilst (technically) still attending a school, he doesn’t care to delve into pragmatic specifics.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the idea only continues to demand his attention when his eyes stare back into the illuminative screen in front of him, providing the only light source in the entire room, apart from the muted hue of the night light sat next to him – it was shaped like a small, sleepy fox and established a great amount of literal and figurative warmth within the air that surrounded him. The screen displays the frontpage for his account’s login. And it’s not just any ordinary social media account; it’s from the school’s own, private, social networking site.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if its established echelons weren’t enough of an issue, the school didn’t do much to help the problem, when around 4 years back, they introduced their official, school board curated, own social networking service, through which students could reach out to one another more easily, as well as post on notice boards for regular updates or announcements. It was also, unfortunately, home to free chatting spaces, through which students were encouraged to ‘Share their love for the performing arts’.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, it usually meant that Jisung had to open his account up, praying that whenever his name showed up under chatrooms – ones curated for specific topics; there had been one for 3racha, through which Jisung always received updates from, as well as one entitled ‘Han Jisung Fanclub’ that frankly, he’d usually been too scared to peer into.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If reality ends up hitting Han Jisung whenever he does wind up graduating from this peculiar school, he hopes it truly humbles him down as much as it can.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I was a celebrity in my High School years.’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Would certainly be one hell of a conversation starter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Doesn’t feel like such a luxury, he thinks, to be sitting in front of a desktop, watching his cursor move about in sporadic motions while he stalls his brain from accepting its dire reality. Eventually, he has to allow said reality to finally get him moving, and when it did, he watches as the notification window opens; the ‘9+’ left little to the imagination, so you can imagine Jisung’s surprise when he’s met with a crisp and clear ‘2,017 notifications’. Dear lord.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His horrors are only, unfortunately, confirmed, when he reluctantly opens the ‘Han Jisung Fanclub’ chatroom for the third time in the entirety of its existence (first time was out of sheer ignorance and second time was because he’d been secretly wondering what they thought of That One stage outfit).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The screen loads, and loads, and loads, for what feels like eons. It’s only when Jisung snaps out of a daze upon watching the screen flash into the chatroom’s page, that he learns why. The screen lights up with a multitude of new messages, the most recent one dating back to a remarkable ‘2 seconds ago’. And, much to his dismay, much to his utter and binding disgust, most of the messages seem to be engaged in a discussion owing to the verifiability of his ‘relationship with Hyunjin’. Again, truthfully, the only relationship they’d ever established was one fed by rage and abhorrence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jisung barely registers how tired his eyes are until he feels his head dozing off to one side. His mouth stretches out into a tethered yawn, and his eyes water at the corners, even as he reads through some of the, admittedly, laughable ones:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>HAN JISUNG GAY???? But ☹</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>why are some people fighting over this??!!! none of you appreciate a good enemies-to-lovers situation?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I had a feeling ,, I swear,,</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Why is no one talking about the alliance anymore??</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wait. That was a valid question, in Jisung’s opinion. Even as his eyes are struggling to register the light completely, and some words blur into each other, he’s pretty sure he barely sees any discussion based around it. Even as he visits the 3racha chatroom; again, it’s filled to the brim with people directly addressing him or freaking out about the news.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And sure, he does find himself wondering how Hyunjin would possibly be taking in this situation, from his end, seeing as they hadn’t thought much of their short encounter and had simply planned on going their separate ways to get their own answers (because god forbid they collaborate on one measly thing for once).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, somehow, Jisung can’t help but allow his worn mind to venture into the possibilities. He’d already, royally, fucked up by confirming false news to the two prying boys he’d left behind earlier that day. Because, just as was the case with most of his decisions, he hadn’t thought about it all the way through, or barely at all, even.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, as the boy sighs, leaning back in his chair, hands reaching up to rake from his – even messier, dilapidated even – hair, down to the rest of his face, allowing himself the moment to heave out a heavy breath and think, think, think.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jisung had his specific techniques when it came to his reliance on branching ideas out of initial thought pieces. Perhaps he’d pick up on a certain melody while out on a simple walk, listening to the brush of the wind on leaves, or the rustling of plastic bags as they drifted through the wind. There was a start, and when he gave himself the time to peel his headphones off, lean back in his chair, and listen to his thoughts, sometimes ideas sprung up more easily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they didn’t, however, as was the case at this very moment, he left it. Saved it for another time, another place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Plus, it didn’t take much more thinking – or, an attempt at doing so – to establish the fact that it’d been too late to allow himself the luxury of taking all of the information that they had presented him with at once. But, for the sake of a quick overview, it went something like:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>1)</span>
  
  <span>Found out that your friends directly deceived you.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>2)</span>
  
  <span>Found out that your friends deceived you AGAIN by confirming that they didn’t find the notion of you and your mortal enemy dating to be odd and repulsive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>3)</span>
  
  <span>Realized that the whole school likely knows that you and the same enemy had ‘snuck off’ into a closet, seemingly for Private Time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>4)</span>
  
  <span>Realised that you’ve accidentally confirmed suspicions of you dating the same enemy (again), because you’d thought it was the best idea at the time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This should play out fine, he thinks. Besides, it had already reached the end of the week, so Jisung had all of the hours he needed to sleep for an absurd amount of time, blast a very specific playlist through his signature, red headphones – precisely those, because it had amazing clarity and Jisung only ever used it for important matters –, ignore most people around him for its dramatics, and then probably take another nap before deciding to make proper decisions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Luck seems to be a friend that never bothers to visit Jisung. Because, just as his index finger presses down on the power button of his monitor, he hears the unmistakable twisting of a door knob, and rather than a face he’d usually expect to find – Chan or Changbin –, the very one that he’d been hoping to avoid for as long as possible, makes its untimely appearance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, it’s Hyunjin. The universe had it out for him today.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh,’ Is all Hyunjin manages to sound between the stifling air of silence accidentally established. Jisung isn’t sure if his eyes are as wide as he’d like them to be, but he’s sure he looks like an idiot who’d just been awoken from a nap and forced to spring back into normal life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh,’ Is all Jisung manages to reply with. A compelling conversation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least it’s civil, Jisung thinks. Then again, he’s sure his brain is too tired to start coming up with insults, so he couldn’t really hope for a more entertaining back-and-forth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What are you–,’ Hyunjin almost asks, until his own eyes expand, and he lays one last look over the plaque on the front of the door that clearly reads ‘A16’. As everyone around school will have likely known, the room was branded as ‘3racha’s studio’, despite the fact that it’s meant to be a public facility. Of course, students were still free to use it, but the school had established an odd rule after 3racha’s gradual rise to the top had begun to effervesce: Official bands or acts are entitled to their own facilities.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This meant that they’d been able to utilize this specific studio room as if it were truly their own, while maintaining that they could allow others the permission to use them as well. Jisung would’ve ordinarily left the door locked, but it seems like the notion flew over his head amidst his recurring stupor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry,’ Jisung isn’t sure if it’s the muted, calming hues surrounding them, or the fact that he’d already been fading, but he senses honesty in Hyunjin’s tone where he would normally assume deception.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I completely forgot that– you,– and I used this studio earlier today, just to edit something really quickly.’ He motions over to the monitor, which had been shut off now, leaving Jisung’s fox-shaped night light as the room’s only source of illumination, now that the door had shut closed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You’re not supposed to.’ Jisung surely doesn’t mean to, but his tone comes out a lot less threatening than he’d anticipated. Rather, he sounds like a sleepy, sulky child.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I know.’ Hyunjin pointedly replies, a bit agitated that the boy had completely chosen to gloss over the fact that he’d apologized.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Wait, did you just apologize, or did I imagine that?’ Jisung finally picks up. Poor guy. His brain is trying to work faster than its able to supply itself with proper energy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes.’ Hyunjin sighs out, struggling to hide the fact that he’d been waiting for an acknowledgement from the boy. Sure, that would’ve completely missed the point of attempting to be ‘the bigger person’, but he couldn’t say he was ashamed to want to feel the satisfaction of watching Han Jisung falter under his actions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Ok, well, it’s fine, I guess.’ Jisung isn’t sure where he’d somehow found it in himself to be civil. He assumes it’s just – dare he think it – a reformative guilt, sitting somewhere within the deepest pits in his stomach, for the thought remains lingering that he’d have to concoct a way to relay his extraordinary plan without leaving the room with a black eye from something other than dark eye makeup.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t need to be told at this very moment, did he? Except, he realises, that would be very foolish and </span>
  <em>
    <span>very Jisung-like</span>
  </em>
  <span> of him; to dismiss and stall for something for as long as possible, even though he’d likely end up extending it past where it needed to be done. He was a professional at it, so you can imagine how difficult it would be to abandon his infamies for, arguably, more favourable traits. Seemed like too much work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hyunjin seems surprised too. Had they both been secretly competing to be the so-called ‘bigger, more reputable person’? Had he been reading too far into it? Whatever it was, Hyunjin can’t deny the kind of fortification he yields from Jisung’s gentler attitude and lack of cutthroat bite – and even more tempting, it’s directed towards him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Normally, any instance through which Hyunjin</span>
  <em>
    <span> guesses</span>
  </em>
  <span> he would refrain from physically heaving upon first sight of the boy occurs whenever he’d taken to sheltering in pursuits embodying his most vulnerable form.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That is, whenever his eyes stared dismissively ahead, nowhere in particular, as if they’d been looking into external dimensions, as if he’d been far away, in his own personal galaxy of note-laced stars. His eyebrows crease marginally, eyelashes down-casted closely over his half-lidded, perceptive gape, one finger running aimlessly over the smooth skin of his tempting lips in great ponder, unbeknownst to his own consciousness. And then he’ll look up, his distant eyes gluing over that of Chan’s or Changbin’s, and he mumbles out a request or a comment, and he’ll remain completely oblivious to just how beautiful he looks when there’s no steam evaporating out of his ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hyunjin would never admit that he’d taken a liking to ‘this Jisung’. Especially not when he realizes that the Jisung he gets to face, most of the time, is exactly the same Jisung that poured his heart’s passion into his work. Jisung was flawed, just like anyone else, but Hyunjin’s distaste for his mere existence existed solely in the fact that their personalities didn’t seem to be compatible in the slightest. It almost felt like they’d been made to repel each other, fated to do so. After all, the apparitions revolving around like-minded individuals often teatered between ‘repulsion’ and ‘attractiveness’.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which is why, even as he relishes in the rare moment of quiet that clouds around them, he doesn’t disrupt it with any more words, any more complications, especially after the day they’ve had. It seems like he’s just about to make his leave for the night and allow for it to end tranquilly, having already retrieved what he needed, until a voice stops him. Quite abruptly if he may add.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Wait!’ Jisung exclaims, seemingly out of pent-up frustration; although, for once, Hyunjin doesn’t feel entirely sure that this frustration is directed towards him, solely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hyunjin doesn’t ask, but his questioning gaze is enough to relay that he’s patiently awaiting a response from Jisung; maybe, he’d finally come up with a snarky remark, perhaps a teasing limerick of some sort – he had been within artistically affluent walls, after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, all Hyunjin receives is even more strange behaviour from the other boy, whose eyes had been downcast to the heels of his feet, which had been clicking together nervously, his hands which had been fiddling with the hem of one of his shirts. His appearance is far from structured, especially in comparison to that morning; his hair is much more unruly, sticking to his forehead in sporadic motions – a mess of blue, red, and blonde –, his makeup had drifted, its clean lines blurred, and he’d just looked very dejected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nervous, in fact. Han Jisung was nervous, within his presence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, Hyunjin doesn’t get much time to savour in</span>
  <em>
    <span> this</span>
  </em>
  <span> display, for Jisung’s next words leave him, somewhat, speechless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Everyone thinks we’re dating.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Sorry?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jisung doesn’t repeat himself. He only looks back up at the boy, attempting to discern his expression. All that seems to stare back at him, however, is a glaring disbelief. So, his assumptions had been right; Hyunjin had likely avoided contact within the hemisphere of socially-active band geeks and chatty theatre kids.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Aren’t people stuck on the alliance thing? Wait– sorry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>because of this morning</span>
  </em>
  <span>?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I guess that’s all it took,’ Jisung sighs out, awkwardly turning his swivel chair from one side to the other, his back slumping over its comfortable surface and his eyes wandering up ‘my members seem adamant to believe the rumours, too, after they– you know,’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes, I know! But– I mean, they’ll have to believe soon enough that we’re not. We literally cannot make it more obvious that we hate one another.’ Hyunjin reasons. He has now taken to pacing around the small space he had, which seemed to be where the boy resorted to whenever he began enduring a great amount of stress.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jisung had been all too familiar with the sight, having witnessed it from afar, before big performances, and within close proximity, outside the vicinity of the horrific Principal's office, because a student allegedly witnessed them attempting to shove tissues down one another’s throats.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jisung watches as the boy rambles absentmindedly, wondering just how much trouble he’d land himself in if he were completely honest about what he’d said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘They seem to think that...’ He begins, but the words seem to die a horrible death at the tip of his tongue, for he doesn’t seem to harbour the ability to completely understand where their beliefs lied, or how they’d somehow comprehended that any relationship – </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, apart from that of great loathsome – between them could ever simultaneously exist and thrive, under any circumstances.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I don’t know, actually. But, I’m serious, there’s seriously no convincing them.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh, come on, they’ll have to believe you eventually.’ Hyunjin rolls his eyes, attempting to dilute the entire situation in his mind. Much like Jisung, he seemed to have taken too much information in that day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘They can’t.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Why?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Because I told my bandmates we </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>dating!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And there it is. It had all been aired out. Jisung swears, the time stills for a moment, just for him, and the image of Hyunjin’s features forming into one of its usual disdain and hatred blinks back into view. He feels motion slowly restore itself back into his senses whenever Hyunjin’s wild eyes peer back into his own, at a much shorter distance than before, when he’d taken to kneeling just by his chair, gripping onto one of its arms for dear life while his eyes bore into Jisung’s own wide, almost fearful ones.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?! This better be a lame joke, Han. You better be kidding!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But all Jisung can return as response is an attempt at concealing a jagged gulp passing down his throat that feels sharper than it should, as if he’d accidentally swallowed minuscule shards of glass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>However, as soon as he starts to see the beginnings of a Hwang Spiral, he dares to raise a hand to grip over the arm that rests over his armchair, practically forcing their faces closer, minimising the space lingering between them, before whisper-rambling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Listen, I will admit I didn’t think through it properly, but I assure you I have my justifications.’ For some reason, Jisung finds it pertinent to look up momentarily, staring back at the door as if to remind himself that it was highly unlikely that someone would overhear them – these walls were soundproof after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hesitantly, he continues, surprised to find Hyunjin somehow compliant ‘I’m guessing the feeling’s mutual when I say we don’t like where that collaborative thing is headed, yes?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waits, watching as Hyunjin absentmindedly nods, before finally posing ‘Plus, they kept it from us, excluded us from discussions, Chan said he’d been conspiring with Seungmin and Minho for, like, 2 weeks now! And, again, we were completely left out.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What’s your point, Han?’ Hyunjin’s patience seems to be wearing thin now, but Jisung holds a finger up to his lips, seemingly testing his luck, his words flying out fast enough for no repercussions to be faced:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘If we want to get back at them, we have to deceive them,’ Jisung starts, slowly inching his finger away – these gloves had likely been much too tattered for him to have ever considered muffling the taller boy’s voice, not once, but twice in the same day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘it won’t be that difficult, playing pretend. Not all couples do gross PDA shit, so we should be fine.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘How would this help to deceive them? I feel like I’d just be tormenting myself for no reason.’ Hyunjin scoffs, not entirely impressed, himself, over the fact that he’s had to breathe in whatever chemicals had attached to Jisung’s gloves through its lifetime.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘We could plan a break up,’ Jisung finally pronounces the leading framework of the plan, the one that upheld its entire purpose ‘one, big, final break up. It’ll ensure that we never have to go through with a stupid alliance, and that we remain permanent enemies in everyone’s eyes. No relationship is nastier than exes who’d ended on bad terms.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hyunjin seems conflicted, and for good reason. Jisung had been doing the very same ever since he plopped over the swivel chair he’d practically almost leaned completely off of. It’s, again, something he pays no mind to. The fact that he’s leaned over Hyunjin’s side, one hand over his arm, eyes locked in a dangerous respite.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which is why, for the second time that day, as a door jostles open, and Jisung finds himself gazing back up at two pairs of eyes in the doorway, he barely has enough time to register the ghastly amount of light that enters his midnight cave. Let alone, enough time to make note of, once again, the questioning position Hyunjin and him had been in as the pair at the door lay their eyes over them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How was it that, in one day, Jisung has managed to land himself in the most unlikely of situations, twice, in the exact same format, when he’d merely avoided Hyunjin’s touch entirely on any other day of normalcy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well, well, well,’ Changbin leans over one side, his arms automatically crossing over his chest, as if it had been one of his programmed responses to almost any given situation ‘guess there’s no hiding now, hm?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jisung purses his lips, hoping that the metaphorical daggers in his eyes reach Chan’s chest as he delivers that grating, volitional smile that </span>
  <em>
    <span>unfortunately</span>
  </em>
  <span> reaches his crescent-shaped eyes; when one squinted more deeply than the other, Jisung knew it was indeed sincere. And a big, gelatinous ‘I told you so’, in this context.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Guess not.’ Jisung is sure that it happens again. Time freezes, but only for him, and the world around him moves at a mismatched pace, when Hyunjin moves the placement of their arms so his hand is woven through his – he swears, he hears the bitterness in his words, however, as he finally utters:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No more hiding. Jisungie and I are dating!’</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. han jisung and hwang hyunjin can’t genuinely be bonding, right?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>‘You know we don’t have to do this here, right?’ Hyunjin’s breath feels particularly heavy when it’s springing towards Jisung’s own personal space, its deftness and sweetened tang almost entirely drawing him out of the daydream he’d meticulously placed himself under – both to pretend like he wasn’t riding the subway, and that he had not been both willingly and unwillingly holding Hyunjin’s hand.</p><p>‘You don’t know that,’ Jisung attempts to reason, the lilt of duplicity spiked through his gritted teeth ‘if anyone from our school happens to be here, that is.’</p><p>‘Highly doubtful,’ Hyunjin rolls his eyes. Even then, he does it offhandedly and subtly, for he can’t help but feel weary for peering eyes ‘what was it you said, anyways? Not all couples do that PDA shit.’</p><p>‘Holding hands is the bare minimum.’ Jisung continues arguing, choosing to whisper his words within Hyunjin’s own personal space, now. Seeing as it’s the most efficient way to seem natural to the eyes of wandering people. He figures it certainly wouldn’t look too good, if there did happen to be someone there, and it looked like they were avidly engaging in a lover’s quarrel.</p><p>It had also certainly been too late for either of them to draw back from their prior agreement, given that an official announcement had been made through the genius revelations of a Hwang Hyunjin, that suggested they pretend to publicise one of the many love letters they would’ve exchanged throughout the duration of their ‘relationship’ – Jisung had immediately begun cackling upon hearing such suggestion, but definitely stopped after Hyunjin cleared his throat and told him to get his done by the end of the night (and he had, even if Hyunjin had thought his memorandum of affection to be distasteful.)</p><p>‘Still, not essential.’ Despite his words, Hyunjin, whether through his subconscious or a heightened, silent understanding, runs the pad of his thumb over Jisung’s palm. So, he guesses, it’s not the worst thing in the world to be holding Hwang Hyunjin’s hand. Even if the taller had forced him to take off his – very loud – charm bracelet.</p><p>But, perhaps that was what had trifled him, and struck him with so much desire for immediate denial. To admit that Hyunjin’s fingers felt soft against his, and that their weightiness felt soothing, and even that when he’d initially thought to grab it to involuntarily seek out comfort within the uncomfortable bustle of strangers surrounding them, he’d found a great deal of it through Hyunjin’s small gesture to close his fingers back around his – with much less force, dually noted.</p><p>The pair had been pushed to one corner, which Jisung certainly believes is eons better than being stuck between surrounding strangers, or something of the sort. Hyunjin seems to have sensed, that when Jisung willingly stuck to his side so unquestionably, it must’ve meant that his disdain for subways – or perhaps, too many sweaty bodies that had run around in public for too long – outweighed his animosity towards him, which said enough.</p><p>Whatever it was, Hyunjin found himself hoping that their destination wouldn’t feel as long as he’d anticipated it to feel. Somewhere, halfway through the seemingly quick travel, he’d plugged his air pods in and watched from the windows as they passed through the underground in blurry streaks. Subconsciously, he finds himself tapping his fingers to the tune of the melody traveling into his ears, with only he as its receiver.</p><p>Despite this, Hyunjin finds himself completely appalled when Jisung speaks up, who he’d just realised, had to have been awfully close if he could hear his gentle murmur over the music ‘Modern Day Cain.’</p><p>‘Sorry?’ Hyunjin asks, pausing his music despite the fact that he (thinks) he’s heard him clearly.</p><p>‘You’re listening to Modern Day Cain, right?’ Jisung asks for confirmation, gesturing to their hands, where Hyunjin had begun tapping the song’s counts over his palm.</p><p>‘Yes,’ Hyunjin readjusts his volume, instinctively ‘sorry, was I playing it too loudly?’</p><p>‘Not at all,’ Jisung’s whisper sounds, somehow, gentler, as he continues ‘I guessed, through your well-timed counts.’</p><p>‘That’s insane, how would you get that from just–,’ Hyunjin pauses, a convenient idea dropping right at his feet when he realises they’d still have quite a journey ahead ‘would you like to play a game to pass the time?’</p><p>Predictably so, Jisung affirmatively agrees, and they spend the next while – hard to tell how much time had passed, really – following the same pattern. To keep things fair, Hyunjin shuffled through his entire playlist, and Jisung proved that he hadn’t been cheating. It was a surprisingly enjoyable experience, for the usually detached classmates to huddle into a corner and sway to music that could only actually be heard from one side, in tandem with the swaying of the train, while they silently hoped that it took its sweet time.</p><p>They’d even found themselves giggling. <em> Giggling </em> in each other’s presence, although Hyunjin admits he can’t help but do so when Jisung’s eyes glisten as he asks that he gives him more time, or when he presents him with a cheeky smile, proclaiming that it was <em> him </em> that messed up with the counts.</p><p>It almost, <em> almost </em>, visibly disappoints them when they realise that the train had finally stopped at their destination. Before anything can be expressed, Jisung detaches himself from his presence quite adamantly, murmuring that they needed to hurry, all amusement having left his demeanour.</p><p>Hyunjin feels the words ‘That was fun.’ Remain at the tip of his tongue, where it seems to diminish completely.</p><p>As he approaches Jisung’s trailing steps, catching up through an advantage of taking longer strides, an unattainable silence sits atop them, dangling out of thick clouds of tension that constantly hung over their moving figures.</p><p>They couldn’t be friends; he has to remind himself. They couldn’t, not when they’d be building up to a grand distancing.</p><p>-ˋˏ ˚ ₊ˑ🎤ˑ₊ ˚ ˎˊ-</p><p>‘It’s not like that at all, I’m just saying maybe it’d be better for both of– Felix, can you please stop messing with the keyboard–, anyways, as I was saying – Jeongin, don’t join him!’</p><p>Chaos, as a word, could not hold the amount of weight and intent needed to completely depict the sight Hyunjin and Jisung wind up walking into. Despite the creak of the door as Hyunjin reaches to turn the knob, none of their attentions immediately turn to them, perhaps because on one side, an exuberated bunch are already tinkering with the – very expensive – instruments off at one side, despite Seungmin’s complaints. A few others are arguing over which colors would work best for their theme, and of course, Seungmin and Chan seem to be in a very argumentative discussion amidst either of them warding some of the complaints and nuisance surrounding them.</p><p>In fact, said chaos only completely stills once Chan happens to turn his gaze to the door and sounds out a very audible ‘You’re here!’ And just like that, as if a signal had rung over the air and bounced off the walls, everyone stills, and a deafening quiet replaces the din.</p><p>It’s only when the pair make a show of stepping in and hearing the door click behind them, that everyone’s eyes instinctively glue over their entwined hands – not to be mistaken for their hand holding back at the subway; that one had felt comforting, this one felt nerve-wrecking and forced.</p><p><em> The clearing of a throat. </em> ‘Hey, guys.’ Hyunjin’s mind barely allows itself the clearing to acknowledge the oddity of there being a hoard of decorative pieces, grouped based on colour or pattern, or the fact that the boys had been doing anything but practicing or starting discussions, as he’d have expected.</p><p>You see, the instructions that had been relayed to Hyunjin, and subsequently to Jisung because ‘He’s your boyfriend, you let him know’, had not been the most clear. In fact, all it had really stated was that Seungmin’s uncle managed a big music shop at a mall just out of town, and that they’d be given free range to gather, discuss, and practice at its back room for the next few weeks while the shop closed down for renovations.</p><p>The very air of the room clumps over the pairs’ tense faces as they slowly trek over to a quaint corner where a loveseat looks to be conveniently set out for their omnipresent arrival. They’d quite literally heard a pin drop from where Changbin had been in the middle of readjusting the clasp of one of his earrings.</p><p>‘Hey,’ Comes the first reply, after an eternity of delaying and dilapidated worth. It’s Chan, who attempts to hold back a grin that’d likely read both an amusing presence and a hysterical one – oh, how odd of a sight this was.</p><p>Still, the boy seems to encourage the others to move around again, albeit at a much less enthused pace, through one simple, 360-gaze. Then, as his eyes turn to zero in one the new, tense couple, he dissipates any semblance of a lingering astonishment for favour of ‘welcoming’ the new couple into their newly established stratosphere of induced creativity and gathering.</p><p>‘Welcome! Just a head’s up, we’re not really working today as much as we are just getting used to new dynamics and all. You can relax, get something to drink. That’s why I told you not to bring your equipment over.’ Chan motions the last sentence over to Jisung, who appears to deflate upon mention of one of the very reasons he’d been so hung up on skipping out on the entire day if it didn’t mean that he’d miss out on procuring some important output – which, as he’s just learned, wouldn’t even be the case.</p><p>‘So, what exactly, <em> is </em>the point?’ Infuriated enough as it was, Jisung had taken to slipping his hand out of Hyunjin’s grasp, which hadn’t proved too hard attributed to the fact that their grips had significantly lazed. </p><p>‘The point is to get acquainted with your new friends, just as you have with your alleged Ultimate Enemy, here.’ A snort sounds from the other side of the room. Minho, who’s been in the midst of gulping down his raspberry yogurt.</p><p>‘I wouldn’t say he should be getting acquainted with the rest of us the exact same way they did.’ The boy pointedly intones, chuckling freely thereafter, careful not to choke on the coagulated dairy in his throat. Wouldn’t be the first time…</p><p>‘Can’t wait to hear <em> that </em> story,’ Comes Jeongin’s input, who’d currently been scooted next to Felix, much to Seungmin’s dismay, while they messed with his uncle’s keyboard synthesizers.</p><p>‘Why don’t we?’ Comes Minho’s speedy reply back. And then, the worst of either’s expectations had been solidified and readily integrated. Far too much attention seemed to land over them and their tense statures that could easily be vindicated through the fact that they’d all been blatantly gaping their direction.</p><p>Felix is raking one hand through the distinct split in his hair when he decides to contribute, unfortunately. ‘It’s alright if they don’t answer; I’ve developed a theory.’</p><p>
  <em> What. </em>
</p><p>Hyunjin’s hands instinctively busy themselves, playing at the pink strings of his soft, faux shearling hoodie, a distant memory fronting itself over any of the others amongst the hastening stream of bittersweet ripples that crashed against his head. He’d first worn the overgarment for practice about a year back, on a vividly gloomy, rainy day. He’d rushed into the practice room, slightly late, strands of hair feverishly stuck to his face and clutching onto the cold rain until it managed to trickle over and onto the white fluff of that hoodie. Felix, who’d been right by the door as he burst in, wraps him up in a tight hug whilst excitedly muttering that he resembled a puppy fresh out of a rainstorm.</p><p>Felix had his variably resplendent instants and had definitely found his way behind a special door within his heart, but he’d certainly had his – irritating – ticks. Such as, theorizing various points in his life as if it were a soap opera.</p><p>‘Jinnie wasn’t too good at hiding his blatant staring,’ Felix starts, much to the grievances of his tall band member, who’d begun to feel fairly ready to slap the crimson out of his hair if he so much as decided to continue ‘and whenever we happened to be at the courtyard at the same time, he’d sneak glances at Jisung while he worked when he thought we were busy, as if I wasn’t sitting right next to him.’</p><p>‘Felix,’ Hyunjin audibly grunts through his teeth, emphasizing how little the amount of respect he’d harboured for him at that very moment, was. It also hadn’t helped at all, that he’d been attempting to keep his line of sight set on the smarmy split-headed boy and a blueberry grin-set boy who’d been exchanging gazes from either party intently. Attempting, because standing over any other non-subtle gape, was Jisung’s own – the nature of which Hyunjin had no means of turning to learn of. Both for his sanity and for the fact that he’s admittedly fearful that the pinching feeling inhabited within his cheeks would scatter into a flushed red he’d have no means of escaping from.</p><p>‘I just mean, I couldn’t find it in me to feel that surprised when your act became so comically exaggerated that the prospect of it being genuine started to slowly slip out of view.’</p><p>Hyunjin’s furrowed eyebrows only soften to the extent that his mind spirals out of focus momentarily in enervating dispute over the nature of his words; Felix had been speaking on actions and sightings that he’d never faked, evaluating Hyunjin’s behaviour outside of any ploy, so why had he sounded so sure, and how long had he been bottling said evaluations?</p><p>But Hyunjin couldn’t and wouldn’t allow himself to ponder over such crude misconceptions. He could admire the work of a respectable artist without marvelling at their actual person, nor were any of his arguments baseless when he’d spend half the time justifying his own means over whichever ludicrous ones Jisung presented him with.</p><p>Jisung and Hyunjin were enemies and could only ever be so. Soon, they’d learn that too.</p><p>Still, Hyunjin feels an ignited ferocity settle somewhere between the cracks in his skull for the accusations he’d just been prodded at with. Surely, he couldn’t simply reveal said frustrations, not when everyone was acutely unaware of his current predicament – other than the one person he’d been wanting to distance from –, so he’d settled on the next best thing. Hiding away.</p><p>‘Seungmin!’ Said boy jolts up promptly from where he’d been pretending to read through a terms and agreements sheet, amidst scribbling down a note in the margins that read ‘I’m currently pretending to write something down’.</p><p>He hums, awaiting Hyunjin’s request, only to meet a blank stare – either he’d forgotten what he wanted to say, or had been looking to backtrack. Either way, the tension was stifling.</p><p>It wasn’t like Seungmin had switched up seamlessly, overnight, but many had seemed to make a clear distinction between the Seungmin solely known for sporting ink marks on his skin and devoting most of his free time to writing and its many splendours, and the Seungmin that had replaced the ink marks with – three, thus far – small, permanent imprints, and endlessly spent away amidst routine, melodious incrementations – especially after he’d solved the mysterious enigma over the anonymous voice random peers often stumbled upon whenever they’d pressed their ears up to a particular recording studio that he’d (now) always utilized.</p><p>It was Seungmin, and the fluffy-haired boy who’d commonly weaved within crowds had quickly become weaselled into a spotlight he’d inadvertently gotten himself under. Still, to Hyunjin, the boy had not been completely upturned as public perceptions liked to believe. His subtler mannerisms remained; his eyes still split into increments of fiery fervour that rushed in gilt streams of golden waves.</p><p>‘Um, do you have a…does your uncle have any more instruments?’</p><p>Seungmin perks up at that, nodding and motioning over to the door. ‘There’s another room just down the hall, to your right, you could grab anything of your choice. Just be careful, please.’</p><p>Hyunjin only has time to offer a short nod and hope that the delipidating spike in his nerves don’t wind up drawing him into a fainting spell, the sharpness of which he’d been so intent on focusing his attention away from, that he almost doesn’t hear when Jisung, in all of his misguided confidence, voices out:</p><p>‘I’ll come with you.’</p><p>What follows is a short silence, Hyunjin’s ablaze eyes, which Jisung swears, as they meet his, somehow feel different than the blazing, wide fury of a thousand suns he’d commonly find himself facing; fire and water behaved, moved, and danced in parallel slants, but at the end of the day, couldn’t be any more different in what they signified.</p><p>It’s all the confirmation he needs to smile and realise that Hyunjin wouldn’t deny the request; he doesn’t, in fact, he simply dips his head in one curt nod and moves to push the door to the room open, awaiting Jisung’s trailing.</p><p>When the door finally clicks closed behind them, Hyunjin can both hear himself finally breathe more openly, as well as some of the tension they’d left behind begin to faze as the room’s residents probably deliberate over what had just ensued – or, as Hyunjin could equally assume, they’d already resumed their fighting over decorations.</p><p>However, it’s only when Hyunjin tugs at one of Jisung’s hands – again, doesn’t reach even a flake of whatever tranquillity had been formulated during the subway ride – and skids down the hall, pushing the aforementioned door open with an unprecedented aggression his mind had been too deluded to ignore the implementations of.</p><p>The second the door audibly smacks closed, Hyunjin’s quickly turning its lock from where a key had been conveniently placed, and then propping both hands back over Jisung’s shoulders, as if to shake some sense into him – which he does attempt to do, of course.</p><p>‘What the hell is your problem? I clearly needed to be alone, you dingbat.’ Hyunjin believes he’d built up a fairly spectacular argument in his head, and had even been mulling over certain key terms on the short trek to the instrument-clad room they’d landed in. Unfortunately, none of those key terms or argumentative transitions had made its way to the boy’s final statement.</p><p>Still, Hyunjin had hoped to receive any reaction from the boy, who’d aimlessly stared behind him, as if the ground had split open and unearthed a fragment of its fiery core – generally comparable to the slits of fire augmented within Hyunjin’s pupils whenever he’d been facing the likes of Han Jackass.</p><p>It was as if his photoreceptors had completely been shielded by rapidly increasing flames and any light surrounding him could’ve been irrevocably obscured by blotchy red spots of a hazy figure.</p><p>‘Hello? At least respond to me while I’m trying to scold you!’ Hyunjin attempts to fill the space where Jisung’s eyes had been redirected towards a direction that knew no bounds, only to see him gulp a heaviness in his throat down before finally meeting his eyes again.</p><p>Again, it truly wasn’t enjoyable to meet the eyes of Han Jisung when his gaze wasn’t also strewn with pools of slithering lava or streaked with lines of fury that blocked any pathway for sympathy. Instead, they’d been adorned with silky, clear river streams through which miniscule, school of fish glided, leaped, and painted her canvas with streaks of red, green, orange, blue.</p><p>It hadn’t felt right to dismantle such a multichromatic gaze with one that only saw red. Hyunjin’s eyes soften before finally turning to look behind him.</p><p>Jisung’s line of sight sits atop that of a steely red, electric guitar. Its lustrous surface reflects shafts of artificial glow overhead, its steel strings glistening against the red that surrounds it so zealously, so unnervingly. The red that determines the dexterity of its prevalence within any vessel it consumes. The red that can begin to feel foreign and unnerving when witnessed under a certain light, under certain pretences.</p><p>Jisung gulps again when Hyunjin’s eyes are back over his, and he hopes, for any life left within him, that the temporary ringing in his head can manage to still from whence its scrutinizing volume had struck him upon first glance of the red instrument. It’s miraculous, alone, that his eyes had yet to fill up with salty streaks of a liquid that poured out whenever the river streams had become too congested.</p><p>‘Jisung?’</p><p>Jisung’s ears feel clearer now. The ringing stops, he doesn’t hear the deepening thud of his heart drumming against his chest.</p><p>‘Sorry,’ Jisung decidedly states, feeling as if he’d just stripped a layer of his skin off and revealed a bare-bone version of himself, although likely unbeknownst to the boy across from him. His presence alone had been extraordinarily comforting, even when he’d wished it weren’t, even if he doesn’t understand how he’d been drawn out of his momentary lapse in judgement so quickly.</p><p>Again, Jisung’s eyes land over the red guitar, even still, within the showers of doubt that hang over their rimmed pools. The fish that colour them do not panic, do not waver.</p><p>It glistens red, but its crimson does not stand over Jisung’s small figure in the same menacing gallantry as just moments ago. Frankly, he’s worn out from allowing it such power when it had truly meant something much more important to him in the grand scheme of things.</p><p>‘Don’t apologize, please.’ Hyunjin can’t say he’s particularly clear on the nature of Jisung’s behaviour. No, not to the complete extent. However, and despite his general inability to confront so, Jisung’s lyrics, Jisung’s work, it had always been within Hyunjin’s hemisphere of interest and admiration.</p><p>It was why his heart drowned out his usual hatred for a preference of complete veneration at the sight of the boy’s work-induced reveries, or through reviews of his music’s librettos, that had spilled out of idyllic creeks of gilded sincerity and shared comfort.</p><p>
  <em> ‘semblances of red are painted over the certain pathways in my heart, they reign over me, comfort me, control me, hurt me, but love me, all at the same time.’ </em>
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  <em> ‘a red guitar awaits me everyday just after school, within the witching hour when I sit by him, we play, and nothing ever lives up to feel as grand, as beautiful.’ </em>
</p><p>Jisung has aired out his grievances in writing. The ghosts of a past’s grips trail over laces of his mind, his heart, his entire being, but he tries his best, through smaller, gradual motions, to gain back the control that had been ripped out of his hands. The red guitar that had been ripped out of his arms the second he was, too.</p><p>He edges away from the door, takes his place on the floor, over a soft mat that lays over the centre of the room, and grabs that red guitar from over the stand it had been propped over.</p><p>
  <em> It’s just a guitar, it’s just a guitar, it’s just a guitar. </em>
</p><p>Wordlessly, he pats down at a spot to his left, just where <em> he </em> used to reside. Hyunjin does not oppose those, although a certain tug on the strings that bind his heart to his chest, remains.</p><p>Jisung’s traces are slow, steady, gentle. He feels the instrument under his soft skin, feels its steel, its body, its head. A vessel, just like any room in any building. His fingers pick through the first few strings with a mellow hesitancy, a stable flow that depicts great technicality despite the connotations. His lips part slightly under his concentrative stare, his fingers work to quickly ascertain the instrument’s tone, and he finds solace in merely allowing it to vibrate and allowing its vibrations to ring and allowing its ringing to echo. His eyes are half-lidded, cheeks dusted pink, hair fluffed in its usual swirls of red and blue and faded blonde.</p><p>Hyunjin realises, with an intent proclamation; this is Han Jisung. There was no other version, no alternate figure.</p><p>This is Han Jisung and he’s as beautiful and genuine as they come.</p><p>-ˋˏ ˚ ₊ˑ🎤ˑ₊ ˚ ˎˊ-</p><p>The continuous turning of the clock falls under no attention to the two boys, propped over the ground, bonded by soul, if not by heart.</p><p>Surely, neither would ever admit that they could finally tolerate one another’s presence, not when the only thing that truly connected them was music. Or perhaps that was the greed of pride speaking.</p><p>Hyunjin’s hair had long been relieved of its tied-up state, and its long tresses pressed over the bare skin of Jisung’s shoulder from where his flannel had draped over, and his focus had been too casually resolved for any consideration to be given. Jisung had been taking silent requests from Hyunjin, even when he hadn’t known the chord progressions of certain ones, because his pride had been too large to dismiss any requests – he’d start off by ‘guessing’, and then eventually just searching them up and genuinely attempting them while Hyunjin murmured the lyrics and drowned the space over with his serene vocalizations.</p><p>Jisung’s confession had spilled out before he’d even had the chance to question why he’d be airing it out in the first place ‘My older brother used to own a guitar just like this one. I owe everything I know, to him.’</p><p>And when it’s out, it feels relieving, refreshing, falling under shades he’d never have expected to shower him with so much warmth, to encourage his heart to rest for once in its life, even if it pinched at odd places, and even if it had pooled its red onto his cheeks instead.</p><p>Unfortunately, the dash of red does not shy from extending past his cheeks when Hyunjin’s reply follows as ‘He must’ve been an amazing teacher, then.’</p><p>Neither are sure how or why they’ve landed themselves where they have, but it’s exactly the kind of technicality they’d rather not address when, otherwise, it’s enough to indulge in their swarm fest of giggles and robust connections.</p><p>It’s a genuine disappointment, and one that they do not hide, when a loud knock interrupts their bubble of established security. What does encourage them to scramble up, however, is a call from a distinctly <em> Changbin </em> voice ‘Hey! You’ve been in there for way too long and everyone’s getting suspicious!’</p><p>-ˋˏ ˚ ₊ˑ🎤ˑ₊ ˚ ˎˊ-</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. UPDATES !</h2></a>
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  <strong>◛↷ To my older brother,</strong>
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  <strong>◛↷ SLEEPY FOX !</strong>
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  <strong>  </strong>
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  <strong>◛↷ CB87's reviews: Alien !</strong>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hello ! this is a semi-filler chapter :] you'll need to take a breather before the next chapter anyways hh</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. han jisung and hwang hyunjin … like each other?</h2></a>
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    <p>A replenished air of finality sits atop the shoulders of the pair sat across one another at the corner of an ice cream shop that had nearly emptied out. Its walls’ vibrant shades of pinks and greens are alight by the glow of a slightly flickering light swinging atop their heads. It strikes Hyunjin’s hair at odd angles, tufts of blonde gilded radiantly while the black’s smooth surface shone artfully.</p><p>A beautiful man, no doubt, but Jisung’s disgust does not waver while he watches the boy scoop up yet another spoon of mint chocolate ice cream, prop it into his mouth and seemingly <em> enjoy </em>its taste as it glides down his throat.</p><p>‘What?’ Hyunjin decides to openly question after noting Jisung’s apparent disapproval for, perhaps, the fifth time in a row.</p><p>‘You genuinely enjoy the taste of cold toothpaste? With all your heart?’ Comes Jisung’s expected response, while the boy himself swirls pools of his creamy strawberry flavour with his own spoon.</p><p>Funnily enough, the pair had accidentally matched their orders to the shop’s themed colors.</p><p>‘And you enjoy a fruit-based flavour? Shit doesn’t even taste like strawberries.’</p><p>Jisung’s aghast expression does not – unfortunately – go unnoticed by the only two other people in the shop (a customer and the poor cashier), and he looks to almost heave the table off of the ground with his own two arms before he speedily argues:</p><p>‘They’re not supposed to taste like the fruit! That defeats the entire purpose; it’s literally iced cream bro!’ Jisung huffs out, a tuft of blue threateningly draped over one of his impressively lined eyes.</p><p>Jisung had almost always worn contacts, but Hyunjin had covertly taken a particular liking towards the pair adorning his wild eyes just then. A striking patch of light brown through which grey-blue hues scattered under certain angles. They’d looked like gemstones that twinkled yet clouded at the same time.</p><p>Thankfully, Hyunjin does not have to compel himself out of his own head long enough to devise a proper answer, when Jisung’s phone rings – very loudly – and startles practically everyone within the latter’s vicinity except for him. He lifts his hand up whence he finally decides to stop admiring the song playing through his speakers, in order to answer with a resounding ‘What’s up?’ – Hyunjin hears Chan audibly sigh from the other line.</p><p>Hyunjin takes the time, however, to admire Jisung’s paradoxical niches; it had always been a subtle representation of the boy’s persona, whether in the form of plastering hello kitty stickers over his black-chain foregrounded phone case, attaching a Panda keychain onto the chains on his belt, drawing pink hearts under heavily shadowed eyes, matching a pink pendant necklace with a spiked choker.</p><p>Hyunjin could go on for days, and it had only been a matter of a few weeks since their newly established group had finally breached past introductory barriers to find comfort within a shared, musically pungent space. Seungmin’s uncle’s shop had become a common venture point whenever the group didn’t meet up sporadically during school hours or contacted one another for joint inquiries.</p><p>And so, as the group found it meaningless to carry on without a particular penname, Stray Kids – or SKZ – was formed. It adopted its name after Minho had landed to a grouped session late one day because he’d decided to spend an extra 30 minutes with a group of stray cats at a nearby alleyway.</p><p>With that, Chan worked very intently, through minute observations, to group particular duos outside the vicinity of the 3 groups their entire school grounds had become familiarised with. Jeongin and Felix’s quickly established dynamic landed them a duet performance, and while Hyunjin hadn’t been completely familiar with their ideas, the small peaks he’d gotten of their muffled giggles and mischievous grins, scared him.</p><p>Then, were Changbin and Seungmin’s pairing – miraculously, and most peculiarly, the pair had found a shared solace in one another’s presence despite their awkward beginnings. They’d went from sneaking short glances at one another across the room in silent admiration, to audibly praising one another’s skills within a shared judgment that drew them so close to one another that Hyunjin swore it looked like there hadn’t been any space between them at all, in certain angles.</p><p>Next, were Minho and Chan. Perhaps the most secretive pair, seeing as Hyunjin had only ever witnessed them huddled behind Chan’s famous laptop, not a single instrument in sight – or, for better wording, a hunk of machinery with a concerning number of external disks that could only be felt by the most gracious of touches. Something told Hyunjin, however, through the fact that Minho had been spending longer hours at the practice room, that it’d likely been a joint composition for a track that he’d likely been in the process of choreographing for.</p><p>And finally, most dreadfully, but expectantly, were Jisung and Hyunjin’s coupling. Again, Hyunjin finds it truly devastating how easily the amalgamation of a raccoon and a rat that sat before him, laughing boisterously to the boy on the other line, had sent his head into a flurry of messy currents that he could never discern the nature of; had they been the type that his mind lifted towards seeing whenever its contents became too convoluted, or the type that drowned ships through alarming peaks and recurring troughs.</p><p>Mere moments through which genuine connections could flow freely from either one of them to the other always had to be disrupted whenever Jisung decided to voice out any thought that didn’t relate back to their task at hand. Essentially, Hyunjin found himself, yet again, caught between the crossfire that Jisung breathed into any atmosphere he resided in. One second of admiration would equate to three seconds of devastation, and Hyunjin had found any concern towards the nature of their future ‘breakup’ lifting away seamlessly until it’d inevitably etch itself back into his heart despite how hard he’d been hoping to form stable, steel-based barriers around it.</p><p>It was as if it’d been contained with the strength of foliage that grew to protect a special stone earthed within rocky hills; undoubtedly, an inefficient barrier, but it’d always manage to grow back up to carry out its sole purpose.</p><p>Even now, it completely breaks down as he watches the undeniably eye-catching boy rake a soft hand – seeing as conjoining hands had become a natural commodity within their lives now, the fact had been completely verifiable – through his velvety hair, marginally sweeping it over to one side while its red fell over his gemstone eyes and its blue atop his fluttery eyelashes. He watches, still, as he lifts his pink spoon up to his mouth again, scooping up his partially melted treat and affirming a solid gulp through the slow bob of his heart-etched Adam’s apple. Hyunjin can‎’t help but delay his tantalizing gape over the spot at the corner of the boy’s lips where a trace of the creamy treat is left behind before he runs a sliver of his tongue over it. Unfortunately for Hyunjin, the boy continually sends his head into a tailspin when his tongue continues to glaze over the prominent ring around his bottom lip, playing with it as he usually did under a concentrative demeanor.</p><p>‘Yeah, Cham, no worries, we’ll send it over by the end of the week, tops.’ The boy hurriedly concludes, moving to hang up while Hyunjin, again, hears the boy on the other grumble and complain about ‘calling him Cham again’. Jisung had explained before that he’d misspelled his name in their group chat once, and now neither him nor Changbin allowed him the liberty of forgetting about the situation.</p><p>Speaking of, Hyunjin had found his phone blowing up with notifications about 10x more often now, as they’d all been collated under a central group chat, and unfortunately spent more time instigating stupid discussions, rather than talking about their progress. Judging by the last few messages he’d peered down at in the past 20 minutes, or so, Chan’s frustrations were justifiable, seeing as he’d been in the middle of a plushie turf war while Changbin and Seungmin ditched him for favour of going out on a date hanging out at a cross between a coffee shop and a book store – Also known as the date spot of Seungmin’s wildest dreams.</p><p>The fact that he’d been consistently feeling his heart embarrassingly twitch and irregulate its beat pattern within the presence of Han Dolt, could only be pertinently emphasized through the growing proximity of their multifaceted group and its layered dynamics.</p><p>It would only continue to tug at his consciousness the more he saw the bright smiles adorning their member’s faces, or the heart that they all readily pooled outside of the vicinity of music creation. Sure, that had been the shared factor that formulated them in the first place, but it hadn’t been the reason Jeongin clung onto Felix ordinarily, or the reason Seungmin and Changbin tried to hide the fact that they’d been severely falling for one another, or for the lively, emphatic bustle of any room they took up, striking beams of pure joviality over its walls and watching as it bounced and heartened everyone within it.</p><p>Hyunjin had felt just as happy and content as them, but only whenever he hadn’t been attempting to shove the idea that their flawed, concocted plan was the best thing for them, down his throat. Even now, while he felt one of the last dollops of his ice cream trail down his throat, its familiar, stirring spirit does not eliminate the growing lump within it that hang around whenever he’d become acutely reminded of the veracity of their situation. Its sugary, creamy textures could only do so much to distract from the shards of glass that sat at the bottom of his gullet, as if determined to form blockages where a potential contentment could peak through.</p><p>But Hyunjin had felt far from content, when he remembers how easily his head dipped to sit atop Jisung’s – usually bare – shoulder under fluorescent lights and the presence of a certain, sleepy fox that Jisung always carried around with him to ensure that they could still denote ideas within the calm presence of subtle dimness. Or when he remembers how loud Jisung’s giggles resounded when he’d been too comfortable to care about its candidness, or when he remembers how even when Jisung had been instigating his ordinary, annoying habits, such as the mere moments ago when he was on the phone with Chan, he’d still fall under his approbations and his skin still burned through the measly <em> thought </em>of feeling his cheek graze over his shoulder again, or his lips press against the corner of his collarbone amidst a foggy tire.</p><p>A fog that had unfortunately never grown large enough for him to forget how it felt, or to forget how it made his chest bubble with excitement.</p><p>Hyunjin and Jisung had yet to finalize their idea for the showcase to Chan, so how were they meant to justify the means of their mutual infatuations when half the time, it’d have nothing to do with music. Even if they’d each carry an instrument within their firm holds and instigate echoes of strung, melodious virtues that clouded the air with its gusto. Jisung’s red guitar and Hyunjin’s black bass, their sleek bodies tucked within their own, an entanglement of misguided beauty established between perplexed hearts. One that couldn’t comprehend and one that feared comprehension.</p><p>Jisung and Hyunjin were two hearts, misled by an idea that felt easier to resort to, imprudent to the veracity of their intentions. The heart yearned for what it couldn’t have, they think. The heart leaned towards what it didn’t need, they presume.</p><p>Two lonely hearts that felt it was wiser to remain isolated.</p><p>-ˋˏ ˚ ₊ˑ🎤ˑ₊ ˚ ˎˊ-</p><p>‘Are you crazy?’</p><p>Jisung’s heart hums with his breath, fingers absently drumming against an acoustic guitar leaning against a wall his chair is propped against. Studio A16, a room they’d gotten accustomed to meeting up in for ‘practice’.</p><p>‘Maybe, but It’s the best option, isn’t it?’</p><p>It’s exactly this kind of scenario through which Hyunjin guesses any and all joviality evacuates the space surrounding them becomes replaced with a stench of irritation, chilli-lime Doritos, and cheap cologne – Han Jisung’s signature fragrance. A striking difference from Hyunjin’s masking vanilla with a hint of fresh grass cuttings.</p><p>‘Best option?’ Hyunjin bewilderingly questions, crossing his arms over his chest profoundly ‘You want to purposefully erase about a month’s worth of preparations just because, what, you’re bored of me?’</p><p>‘Ok, first of all,’ Jisung’s pointed glare returns, with the addition of a raised eyebrow – for some reason, Hyunjin’s brain decides to remind him of the time the boy had made it a habit to sport a fake eyebrow piercing and the things it’d done to his soul, or lack-there-of.</p><p>‘don’t put words in my mouth. I’m not bored of you, I’m tired of pretending, and the sooner the better. Second of all, this is perfect timing because it <em> won’t </em>erase anything, you dramatic weasel. It’d just make things awkward, at most, which would likely lift off our supposed duet but only affect the rest of the group to the extent that they won’t think to form any permanent alliances after the showcase. And boom! Just like that, everything falls into place.’</p><p>Hyunjin imagines a pile of dominos falling atop one another in irregular patterns, different directions, and creating a rubble of mess out of extraneous, hard work. That was what he’d felt like he’d be doing at the mere thought of carrying out Jisung’s <em> genius </em> plan. Where a doubt lingered in his chest before, it had now grown exponentially, meeting every trace within the walls of his pounding blood vessels. Red foliage, red seas, red skies, it’s all Hyunjin can see. A shield of red that persists past his desire to sense every colour, once more.</p><p>‘Nice to see that you’re still a fucking idiot,’ Hyunjin’s furious thoughts slash into the air through abrasive oratory before he can find the chance to stop himself ‘those 6 have worked <em> so fucking hard </em> and have been getting along <em> so well </em> for this past month, while you can’t even fathom the idea of making a song with me? You realise that the breakup would be better off done and finished with after the showcase? The only reason you’re rushing into it is because you don’t want to sing a stupid love song with your ‘mortal enemy’.’</p><p>Jisung scoffs loudly. This feels all too familiar. Hyunjin desperately grasps onto hope, his tethered, bruised fingers growing tired of holding on; colours, colours, where had the colours gone?</p><p>‘Oh? So, you’re suddenly surprised at the idea, when we’d both only agreed to do this because neither of us wanted an alliance?’</p><p>‘There’ll still be a 3racha, there’ll still be a spi3z, a mystery twins, those groups still exist, they won’t disappear just because we decided to perform on one stage for <em> once </em>.’ Hyunjin’s voice thins out; it had never tugged at his hart so harshly, to argue with Jisung so openly, so ruthlessly. It had never hurt this much.</p><p>‘What, so now, you’re suddenly pro-alliance? Now, you’ve suddenly decided to change your mind and decided not to say shit to me?’ Red, red, red. The red in his hair hangs over both of his eyes, his contacts rim with red, his lips tatter into red, his necklace’s gem gleams a magnificent red under the faint light radiating off of the fox nightlight that sits at the table in front of them. Hyunjin’s momentary glance towards its direction for evasion of his watery gaze shakes his heart. It casts a radiant glow over the tattoo peaking out of Jisung’s folded hoodie sleaves; a sleepy fox sat atop a large star.</p><p>Hyunjin’s heart is lonely. It yearns for the touch of soft skin, it years for Jisung’s whispered lullabies, it yearns for the greens, blues, yellows, and oranges of pretty eyes.</p><p>‘Fuck. You.’ Hyunjin’s anguish pulls him out of his chair, pulls him out of that room, out of the school, further and further away from the intensifying crimson that surrounded Han Jisung.</p><p>Hyunjin’s heart is lonely. And that’ll never change, for some hearts are made to be isolated.</p><p>-ˋˏ ˚ ₊ˑ🎤ˑ₊ ˚ ˎˊ-</p><p>A boulder of silence falls atop the heads of three boys that had been completely unaccustomed to such an idea unless they’d ever resorted to working silently, through which its presence had never been stifling, never been as heavy as this one.</p><p>Jisung’s angry, no he’s absolutely furious, and he’s sure of it, but he’d not managed to uphold the same kind of determinative anger as (what had felt like) eons before. An anger that he’d irrevocably felt all over, wholly, and decidedly, where a strange bout of sadness had mixed in this time around.</p><p>‘Please, repeat that again, so I know I’m not just hearing shit.’</p><p>Chan sighs. He’d been settled on a creaky chair, sat in front of Jisung’s usual seat on the couch, where he’d taken to burying his head within his arms and pulling his hood up to his ears in hopes that it’d form an efficient blockade.</p><p>His gaze had felt more pitiful than apologetic, and Jisung did not appreciate it one bit. Especially not when Changbin’s held the same kind of remorse he could always discern easily, when it came to his telling eyes.</p><p>‘Jisung. I know you want to be mad at us, but–,’</p><p>‘Are you serious? Of course, I’m fucking mad!’ Jisung heaves out, grunting when he feels his teeth knock into the metal around his bottom lip.</p><p>‘Mad because we meddled, or mad because you’re scared you’ve just lost someone very special?’ Chan’s advice had always been akin to that of a wise, all-knowing, old man – like Oogway from Kung Fu panda. A decisive, calm approach to relaying wise, yet harsh, truths, even towards ears that found it difficult to bypass their own verifications.</p><p>‘Chan,’ Jisung exasperatedly groans, puffing out the metaphorical smoke from his cheeks ‘you’re already aware that it was all a ploy. All fake. All imaginary. What’s the point in holding onto hope that there were ever any actual feelings involved?’</p><p>Unfortunately, this is where Changbin’s contribution enters. The pair were dangerously terrific at negotiating, the prowess of which knew no limitations.</p><p>‘Who fakes unapologetically cackling at someone’s stupid jokes? Or, maybe, letting them rest their head on your lap and offering them a shoulder massage while you’re at it? Or, perhaps, braiding their soft, long hair while they murmur how much they love the feeling of your hands–,’</p><p>‘Ok, stop! What the fuck is up with you guys, do you spy on us?’ Jisung’s convolution had momentarily halted him from stopping Changbin’s grin-speckled ramblings, but it was the terribly heated stinging of his cheeks that made him finally draw the line.</p><p>‘Yes.’ They reply, simultaneously.</p><p>‘Sung, you already know by now, that we lied when we told you A16’s walls are soundproof, right?’</p><p>‘I hate you both.’</p><p>The pair grin, still. Jisung’s inflamed cheeks and sorrowful eyes would be enough to knock real sense into his thick skull. Hopefully.</p><p>-ˋˏ ˚ ₊ˑ🎤ˑ₊ ˚ ˎˊ-</p><p>Hyunjin had always, innately, been an emotional person. Blinding anger: when conditioned under an argument with someone important, with someone that was worth the silent, pleasant moments. It would almost always messily accrue in the form of unyielding tears that pooled at his eyes discomfortingly and stained his cheeks acrimoniously, occasionally meeting the sticky skin of his neck, forming droppage that trickled down his shirt, encasing its cotton with salty remorse.</p><p>Minho and Felix knew this all too well. They’d seen him resort to the depths of spilled over shame upon engaging under tense dispute, watched as he silently drifted away whenever his heart had cracked under the pressures it was commonly pushed under. It was the entire reason neither saw it necessary to question him when he’d drawn himself straight into Felix’s embrace upon shakily scampering into their studio on a curiously balmy afternoon.</p><p>It’s an agonizing drawl of hours later when, he too, learns of the nature of the boys’ offenses.</p><p>‘You knew,’ Hyunjin repeats, eyes blank, unreadable.</p><p>‘Hyunjin–,’</p><p>‘This whole time, you’ve known?’</p><p>The room’s inordinate delay of the intrinsic trailing of time does not go unnoticed by Hyunjin. His eyes are deadest on the clock sat across from him, almost to the ceiling. Yet its seconds do not move with the tentative thudding in his chest.</p><p>‘Yeah, but honestly it’s pretty fair, since you were trying to trick us, too.’</p><p>‘Plus, it’s not like everything I said was a lie, right?’</p><p>Hyunjin’s mind clouds, the fuel that usually ran through his blood drawing itself out and the cotton within his throat expanding with every feeble turn of the unusual clock that ran two places at a time.</p><p>But it’s not a terrible feeling, rather it’d felt like the kind of reprocessing his heart would need before it finally stretched over the right path, before it could finally realise itself, before it could finally escape the isolation that rapidly wraps around it and compresses down on it just to taste a spike of its anguish.</p><p>Miles apart, another lonely heart sits next to a red guitar, thumbing through a mound of letters that stained neat black, that loved, that breathed, that hurt, that felt. A mound of letters clasped between shuddering hands. The one on the very top, the one within nearest proximity, stains through drops of brackish remorse that falls over its ink. He watches, closely, as its ink spreads and spreads and spreads, as if its steely hold on him draws straight back to grasp onto his fragilities just as he’d learned to let go.</p><p>His tears spread over the length of almost every word, the spillage of anguish, of pain, of a ghost that stood over him and taunted him ceaselessly. It falls over what had once been a spillage of happiness that breathed in so much vivacity that it needed to be condensed into a series of letters that formed a series of sentences that had once meant the world, the expanse of universes to him.</p><p>
  <em> ‘To my older brother,’ </em>
</p><p>Jisung’s hands shake even more vigorously, knuckles whitening when his grip tightens over the ghost of a figure that watched him, that taunted him.</p><p>‘I just turned 12 years old today! Mom says you’ll be home soon for the holidays, and I just can’t wait so I hope this letter gets to you safely while we wait for you~,’</p><p>Jisung’s heart overflows, it spills over, it ruins the ink, it ruins his shirt, it ruins it all. He ruined it all.</p><p>‘I got your present safely!!! I thought it was a doggie and mom says it’s actually a fox, but i really don’t believe her (don’t tell her please!!),’</p><p>Han Jisung’s heart needs reprocessing, he needs to overcome the persistent dexterity of the gaunt monsters that towered over him, that laughed at him, that…</p><p>‘I’ll make sure it stays on all night since mom says I can use new batteries if it loses power !! I’ll pretend its you even when you’re not here, so I can sleep well :D!!!’</p><p>Han Jisung cannot read this letter. Han Jisung cannot do anything right.</p><p>His hands shake, they bleed a blinding red that clouds the ponds in his eyes that hold pretty fish, they tear, tear, tear, until there’s nothing left of the letter that once meant the world to him. A series of tattered pieces, bunches of paper, that’s all they’d become.</p><p>Han Jisung’s eyes are red.</p><p>Han Jisung’s heart is lonely.</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. PART 5 – Han Jisung and Hwang Hyunjin’s hearts are multi-coloured</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> Red could be a hazardous colour, Jisung supposes.</p><p>A courage that fell under deaf ears, that drove to insanity, that instilled an insatiable loss to power. A danger that lingered over one’s shoulder, looming at the darkest hour, spreading, and splitting into asphyxiating fumes. An anger that clouded gemstone eyes entirely and suppressed its magnificence, its truest intentions.</p><p>But red had seemed different around Hyunjin; red had felt comforting.</p><p>When red was the heat trailing over delicate skin through the slimmest of caresses, that intermingled weary breaths, that radiated off of a nightlight. A fervour that wrapped its resolute grip over instrument-clad bodies, ringing its harmonious resonance, grasping onto its splendour, and transferring it between two hearts, where an equal share could always be ensured.</p><p>A red that loved. A red that meant the world to Jisung at one time…and still did.</p><p>Remnants of a letter could never be restored, Jisung knows this still as he encases them within a small envelope. Tears tainting ink determinately couldn’t be retraced, Jisung knows this as he runs his fingers along the decrepit words before him.</p><p>Red could be different, Jisung thinks.</p><p>He’ll pick up the broken shards, from a reddening mirror that’d shattered under pivotal sections, shaping its future misshapenness. He’ll pick them up, and once they’re pieced back together, it’ll remain analogous to its fragmented image, as if it’s been frozen in time before its smithereens can finally fall over one another shambolically and echo a rippling crash throughout the air.</p><p>A crash that ricochets and plays on for longer than it feels like it should, as if played back slow, slow, slowly.</p><p>A crash that perfectly parallels the rippling of bass strums over intermittent seconds; there’s a shake, there’s a pause between each strum, a moment of silence for the placidity.</p><p>Jisung picks up his shards but he has no intention of relying on a re-piecing of its disjointed state. He grabs fresh ink, feels new paper under his skin, and listens for the echo, the shake, the pause, and the placidity.</p><p>It’d been a small visit from an old friend that restored some conventional logic back into Jisung’s (steadily) shrinking brain. Amidst a short break that he’d personally requested from Changbin and Chan – to which the two reluctantly permitted for hope that the time alone would do him well –, Felix Lee had been more than happy to show up at his door with nothing but a bag of pre-baked brownies, a boxy smile, and an offering for a heart-to-heart.</p><p>It's always been too hard to deny Felix, and Jisung would be lying through his teeth if he were to ever claim that he hadn’t missed hangouts with Felix – they’d been special, for the boy had almost always been ready to direct slices of his shine that could spruce up even the gloomiest of days. Thankfully, even the slightest of offerings meant a great deal of bestowed joviality, for Felix had been known to shine so blazingly, that mere sight of him could potentially blind any ordinary person.</p><p>Which is exactly how and why Jisung winds up inviting the boy in and munching on one of his tasty treats while he wound a hand through his disordered locks of hair soothingly.</p><p>‘I won’t tell you how he’s doing if that’s something you’re too afraid to hear.’ He’d benignly stated amidst his gentle hair scours ‘I know how these things usually go, and I imagine you’d likely both be holding up terribly. I’m only here with you today in hopes of eradicating any of the senseless thoughts that usually propel those that have never been in a serious relationship.’</p><p>‘And, <em> you </em>have?’ Jisung scoffs airily, hearing Felix exasperatedly groan in response.</p><p>‘Please, I’ve already had to deal with Seungmin and his mismatched love-queries; I’ve watched a ton of romance-based sitcoms and films…and fanfiction.’</p><p>‘Ah yes, what an accurate source material.’</p><p>Despite his transgressions, Felix’s minor change in topic had implemented a newer state of mind into Jisung’s unyielding determinative sense perceptions. Changbin and Seungmin. They’d been, in his eyes, completely obvious in either of their infatuations, to the point where it’d been almost frustrating to see how closely they shared intimate spaces or how bright their smiles were upon first sight of one another. Because it’d always come back to ‘We’re just friends.’</p><p>Could Jisung, even as he broadened his prospects, ever visualize Hyunjin and himself under a similar light; one that shone upon two hearts that yearned to conjoin. Could Jisung, amongst seas of doubt, picture such a perfect connection between the likes of two people that seemed better apart than together, based on a multitude of experiences before either of them had retrieved the chance to converse civilly.</p><p>It’d been long since Felix’s departure that Jisung feels the inflection of minutes that behave like hours pass on. It’d been long since, but the thought that hope could be restored remains at the tip of his tongue, as if hesitating its completion. As if pondering over its own demise before it could even be savoured entirely.</p><p>Eventually, a thought prevails above the ocean of misgivings that blight its existence.</p><p>His heart murmurs with his external hums, his pens scratches against the paper pleasingly, and once under the right rhythm, he begins to hear more. He hears laughter that chimes along with harmonious glee, sees trusses of velvety hair that tickles the skin on his neck, feels a soft grasp fall over his palm, its digits running along the cold metal of the rings on his own.</p><p>Han Jisung learns of the power of obstinacy. One that grasps onto skin through its frigid hold and draws the sinistral side of his chest further and further away from its fount of heat.</p><p>He draws out the heartiest of its contents over fresh paper, pours streamways of affection onto its surface, and watches with great satisfaction as his mind carols a scenic tune, and the fuel in his veins return to redistribute its firm command over every muscle in his body.</p><p>For the first time in long, a smile that pinches into his cheeks so tightly that it begins to ache, adorns his face. A picturesque depiction of hope is restored, for Jisung finally learns, again, what it is to love freely.</p><p>-ˋˏ ˚ ₊ˑ🎤ˑ₊ ˚ ˎˊ-</p><p>Hyunjin distinctly remembers the first time he’d considered learning to play an instrument. At the time, when he’d been building up acne scars and sniffled under the chill of the air surrounding him consistently, the nature of <em> which </em> instrument did not feel like it would matter.</p><p>Dance wouldn’t be enough, he remembers thinking. Dance would not work to uplift him alone, if even perceiving himself reaching above class averages among his small dance group became arduous. It’d been a necessity, he thought, to pick up whatever felt like the easiest to him yet seemed convoluted enough to raise his standing. Whether it was in his own eyes, the eyes of doubtful peers, the watchful, sorrowful eyes of his parents, he could never be sure.</p><p>It’d been one paltry comment from his mother, who’d taken to consoling him sometime after another ‘stunt’ at dance class – which was really just another angry shriek from instructors and other kids to keep up with the timing – that drove him to such motivations.</p><p>‘Perhaps dance should be put on hold, yes? I’m afraid that, at this rate, you wouldn’t find yourself qualified enough for that nice school you’re always admiring, right?’</p><p>No. No. That’d been Hyunjin’s dream school; there were no other options.</p><p>Through bleak intent, Hyunjin remembers streaking past echoing structures, past blurry faces and tufts of pressing wind, before landing at their local music shop.</p><p>Hyunjin remembers the brief strike of blazing fire that consumes his chest whole whenever he’d come to learn of a very important factor; instruments could be felt.</p><p>Hyunjin had been steadily losing his hearing for that past year, but instruments could be felt. Had he forgotten so, when it’d seemed like something that could only be traced and understood through steady hearing?</p><p>Instruments could be felt, and Hyunjin remembers the finality of the twanging tremors of each and every one that he felt beneath his nimble fingers. A joyous occasion it was, to feel, to know.</p><p>To learn an instrument, one needed to take so much more into consideration; it was never meant to be whatever struck with him as the easiest. </p><p>To learn of its linguistic patterns, to learn of the different colors it smeared, to learn it entirely and irretrievably without delay.</p><p>Hyunjin remembers purchasing his first bass, a black and white body that felt miraculous under the weight of his hands when all else seemed to feel foreign and unsuspecting. A triviality that’d stuck to his mind of minds whenever he’d pick it up again, remembered its teachings, and began to strum through gentle finger-strums.</p><p>Gentle, gentle, gentle. He had to be gentle, so as to allow himself the luxury of sensing its resonance soundly and glaringly so. A preface to his most unyielding infatuations. For, just a few months can stream past like pressing wind, so that Hyunjin’s parents can finally afford to purchase a hearing aid for the lonesome boy that imagined what it would be like to remember again.</p><p>Hyunjin remembers feeling derelict tears group at his eyes, stinging their shiny surface, trailing over his healing skin. Hyunjin remembers the echo, the waver, the bittersweet flavour of finally experiencing all of its multifaceted tangs. Hyunjin remembers hearing his breath shorten amidst seas of seeping remorse, hearing his mother softly question if he’s alright.</p><p>Hyunjin remembers it all, even as he draws his fingers over the strings of his very first bass guitar, its sheen dulled from years of wear but its strings definitively eons more precious and resounding than any new instrument. One had to do many things to properly learn their instruments, but most of all, one had to understand the nature of their aging bodies.</p><p>His father had once suggested, not too long ago, that it could’ve been more favourable for him if he were to rid his room of the older instruments that rarely made it to stages. They hadn’t been for the stages, he’d told him, they’d been for him. For him to feel the gentle twangs of stilled, gradual reverberation and flourish nearer towards whichever melodies it procured.</p><p>‘I really do admire that you still use older instruments,’ Hyunjin remembers. He remembers Jisung’s admiring gaze, remembers how Jisung’s own fingers trailed over the sturdy strings of the old bass ‘most people believe once there’s space for new, that the old instantly becomes worthless.’</p><p>Hyunjin remembers. He remembers silver hues strewn across ponds, across foliage, across a vastness of dyes that amassed and mellowed along one another in feathery waves. He remembers new beginnings, fresh cuttings, <em> that stupid cologne </em>.</p><p>Where colourless daylight once took over a majority fraction of Hyunjin’s mind following its attempts at redistribution of interests, the visible spectrum of coloured radiation spills over and paints the world surrounding him through its varying frequencies.</p><p>Hyunjin colors the pages of his notebook blue, green, violet, indigo, red. Hyunjin gushes shrewd daydreams of black eyeliner traced neatly over honey skin and a metal ring contained between shiny teeth and paints his notebook through the full spectrum of colors in his heart.</p><p>-ˋˏ ˚ ₊ˑ🎤ˑ₊ ˚ ˎˊ-</p><p>A small café that housed caffeine-laced stenches and bundled its warmth within four walls sat just a street away from Chan’s house. A spot the three boys that built airways for closure through their passion, commonly sat at whenever the teenage-boy-laced-fumes within the garage had become too overwhelming to endure the brute of.</p><p>It’d been in this very café that Jisung had finalised the very last part of his newest song, the pre-chorus, just within a deep corner on the top floor, that housed a window displaying an outstretched view of the outside.</p><p>He’d observed the leaves on a large tree to the back, by a solemn bench whose white paint had been chipping away. Its intricately sewn petals of red, orange, and yellow sway with the light zephyr that follows its surface through calculated motions. One such petal dances with the predicted weather, before ripping out of its branch and landing to the ground through gradual, swift cavorts. Finally, it lands over a small puddle strewn over dipped pavement, tattling greenery muddled between its cracks from where it whispers riddles and shakes the water’s surface.</p><p>Just beside the lonesome leaf, drowned under burning liquid, sits a lonesome lady, on the aforementioned, lonesome bench. She’s shivering, undoubtedly, for her light sweater doesn’t leave much to the pondering mind. Her hair is woven within three strands that make up a dishevelled bread, but she attempts to wound its long strands closer to her neck, her collarbones, and anywhere else exposed to the wind.</p><p>As if by miracle of nature, the leaf strewn within a liquid that ripples with the shake of the pavement, is joined by another leaf that joins it after its own noble frolic. The lady, too, is joined by another girl whose pink hair sits at her shoulders, and whose arms are upholding a large, lemon-yellow coat.</p><p>Instantaneously, she perks up upon catching sight of – who, Jisung has to assume is – a familiar face whose eyes are strewn with worry yet gleam with an undying love. Jisung’s predictions are confirmed when the girl with the scruffy plait jumps to her assumed lover, wringing her arms over her neck, as if it’d been eons since they’d last seen each other. The girl with the bobbed hair smiles contentedly, and Jisung understands. He understands, as he watches her lightly scold the sweater-clad beauty, helping her into the large coat before wrapping a decided arm over her shoulders and entangling a hand through hers, a small peck for assurance placed at the top of her head, over the coat’s hood.</p><p>Jisung understands, and his chest feels even lighter when he turns said understanding into a self-actualization that’d been waiting to be heard, waiting to be discerned.</p><p>A memory, among the film roll of treasured pieces that house themselves within Jisung’s precious mind, plays. First, he sees the beginning trails of berry blue and café brown synthetic fibres. Hyunjin’s sweater, he distinctly recalls, a soft, oversized overwear that he’d been buried within, along with a large, patterned, wool scarf.</p><p>‘You can never be too prepared for the chilly weather,’ He’d justified the means of his layered precautions, eyes glazing over Jisung’s flimsy, oversized graphic t-shirt and its corresponding, pitch black and cherry red sweatshirt.</p><p>The words had begun ringing within the bleak walls of Jisung’s empty mind whenever his instinctual shivers had betrayed him and his head leaned over the windowed side of the bus they’d been boarding, warm breath wafting back over his frosty lips whence it puffed over the rickety glass and coated it with its strawberry-infused fumes.</p><p>He’d barely received the chance to bury the thought that he’d – as Hyunjin had predicted – been underdressed, too busy burying his partially gloved hands within his folded-over arms. Much to his dismay, Hyunjin had taken notice of this readily, chuckling into the settling breeze, one hand readjusting his beanie while the other began to unwound the scarf around his neck.</p><p>Jisung speedily takes notice of this, hoping that his loud scoff is enough to hide the propagating pink within his globular cheeks – there hadn’t been time for him to embellish his pretty face with makeup that day, which only exemplified this weariness –, muttering that he didn’t need Hyunjin’s ‘pitiful offering’.</p><p>‘It’s not out of pity, it’s for both of our benefits.’ Hyunjin’s grin-laced reply sounds, his arms working to quickly place one end of the (admittedly) soft scarf around Jisung’s small figure, quickly securing the rest round both of their necks, landing back over Jisung’s side once he’s done.</p><p>‘Shared body heat will keep us both warm.’ Hyunjin’s warm whispers feel (admittedly) softer than the heavy material that’d sit over Jisung’s previously unmasked skin, and even his usually persistent stubbornness does not waver for fear of losing its cordiality.</p><p>Jisung realises, with an irrevocability, whenever he’d thanked the barista that laid out a prim slice of strawberry cheesecake in front of him, just by his sacred lyric book, that only through such self-actualization, would his heart be able to merge its feverous components and allow itself to unceremoniously tumble.</p><p>Like a leaf in its altruistic dance, he swayed, smothered within a blazing dip that threatened to lift away. He’ll wait for the next free-fall, but not without a steady plan.</p><p>It’d been hours later, when said plan began to trail past preliminary starting points, that Jisung had readily proposed his plans to a newly joined pair that sat across from him now. The sun’s innumerable streams of orange-pink hues hid behind a cloudy overpass in the panoramic skies within the outspread view ahead of them.</p><p>Jisung’s cheesecake had long since been devoured and savoured within his immaculate taste buds, and although it’d been greatly fulfilling, it’d remained as mysterious as ever, where the spirit of his friends’ expressions had lied. Even Changbin’s telling eyes couldn’t save him.</p><p>‘Well,’ Jisung attempts to ascertain any verifiable manifestation ‘what do you guys think?’</p><p>Neither of the pair say anything for the first few moments. A ‘subtle’ glance is exchanged by either party, both of them somehow get the memo to take a long sip from their drinks, as if waiting for Jisung to crack and scold them for stalling.</p><p>Miraculously, Jisung manages to internalize his disapproval, watching with great loathing as the pair finally look back at him and gulp down their drinks – which also takes longer than it should. Finally, it becomes evident where their positions lie in the matter, when his older friends break out into heavy smiles and frivolous giggles that had been withheld far too long for their liking.</p><p>Before Jisung can so much as twist his features into one of intent querying, the embarrassing pair join him at either side of his solemn booth, closing in on him and entrapping him within their conjoined hold; Changbin to his left, Chan to his right. No escape in sight.</p><p>Jisung’s whining does not fall short of blaringly loud, nor are his <em> wonderful </em> bandmates’ increasingly thoughtless snickers. Thankfully, the café’s manager, who’d commonly manned the area, had thought nothing of their interactions, seeing as he’d been well accustomed to seeing the trio at the spot, commonly boisterous as ever.</p><p>‘I hate you both.’ Jisung’s organs feel as if they’d been squashed ineptly under the weight of the pair and their exertive forces. Even then, there’d been no obscuring the pinching of his warm cheeks from the height of his smiles.</p><p>
  <em> The plan was finally on. </em>
</p><p>-ˋˏ ˚ ₊ˑ🎤ˑ₊ ˚ ˎˊ-</p><p>‘You want me to review, what? Sorry, I’d like to hear that again.’</p><p>This had been a mistake.</p><p>‘A song, <em> Lino </em>, a song.’ Hyunjin groans from where he’d been sprawled over Felix’s bed, exasperation from the day’s lengthy pace clear as ever; and it was only 4pm.</p><p>‘I know you only intend to use that stage name mockingly, but I’ll have you know that it is, indeed, very cool.’ Minho grumbles, flicking a finger over the younger’s exposed forehead, humming when he whines and finalizing his argument for emphasis ‘Bitch.’</p><p>‘I think what he means to say is, what <em> type </em> of song are you asking us to review?’ Felix intervenes from where he’s laying stomach first, just beside Minho, mismatch-socked feet swaying perilously close towards the eldest member’s face.</p><p>He’d been meticulously painting over his nails, so his attention drew in and out of focus occasionally. Hyunjin had still been sure he’d wind up regretting deciding to place his full bottle of polish on a bed sheet that would’ve been very subject to consistent shifting. <em> ‘But it doesn’t feel like a sleepover if we’re not all on the same bed!’ </em> Hyunjin recalls hearing Felix whine over.</p><p>‘What’s wrong with you two? You’ve read the lyrics, all I need to know is if you think they’re good, or not.’ Hyunjin shifts, burying his head within the fluff of Felix’s huge bunny plushie, hearing said boy’s short shriek from when his precious polish had likely almost spilled over.</p><p>‘Hyunjin, I think it’s clearer than water what genre this song relies on. The question is, are you willing to admit it, out loud?’ Minho rolls his eyes, growing tired of Hyunjin’s uniform dismissals.</p><p>‘Clearer than water?’</p><p>‘Yeah? The phrase ‘clearer than day’ literally makes no sense, it’s not like it’s something that’s known to be regularly clear, you know– stop trying to change the subject and answer the question, Hwang!’</p><p>‘But clearer than water wouldn’t work either because–,’</p><p>‘Hyunjin!’</p><p>‘Fine! It’s a love song, are you happy?’ Hyunjin’s head leaves its site of borrowing, back to laying over one of Felix’s squishy throw pillows.</p><p>Like clockwork, Minho and Felix meet gazes, and Hyunjin wonders how worthy it would be to walk all the way back to his house, when the pair begin to twiddle their feet in the air, paws hands meeting in the middle for a resounding high-five.</p><p>‘Where’s my high-five?’</p><p>‘Congrats, you’ve finally admitted something we’ve all known for weeks, you want a present?’</p><p>Hyunjin’s attention gains vigour at that, his torso lifting him up at the same time he hears Felix screech at him to be more careful – he’d been on the second to last nail now. ‘Woah, woah, wait, I haven’t admitted anything, though?’</p><p>Minho snorts. ‘Sure. Because it’s <em> so </em> unclear who your song is about.’</p><p>‘Are either of you going to actually let me know what you think of the lyrics?’</p><p>‘They’re beautiful, Jinnie,’ Felix had been quick to screw his pastel-orange polish closed, leaping over Minho’s balled-up figure, and joining Hyunjin’s side at the other end of the bed, careful not to damage his clean polish-work while simultaneously directing a lively smile that reaches every possible smidgen in his conduct, even as it meets Hyunjin’s own pout-strewn expression.</p><p>‘I was honestly close to tears when you sent it over last night! You can ask my mom! She was knitting while I read through it, and she witnessed the mess I became reduced to. But, mess in a good way! Mess in the kind of yearning you feel when you read anything so romantic that it makes you long to feel so deeply for someone else!’</p><p>Felix’s rambles had barely ceased that sundown, his praises laced with an air of fervour and deep incision that left Hyunjin wondering if his words had truly resonated with him that closely. Even Minho’s hums in between said praises had been alarming; perhaps such confirmation was what Hyunjin had needed to settle the ilk of his sentiments.</p><p>It’d also been confirmation that even if he earnestly aspired to, Hyunjin wouldn’t ever be able to shake the pair off of him – both literally and figuratively; no one would be leaving their cuddle bundle any time soon.</p><p>-ˋˏ ˚ ₊ˑ🎤ˑ₊ ˚ ˎˊ-</p><p>The taste of placid aversion blots the tip of Han Jisung’s tongue, from the very first few breaths he manages to take in that day. A placidity ensured through the mere thought of facing a pristine figure of importance again, yet aversion for fear that his own monotony would drown out his shine.</p><p>Hwang Hyunjin shone so brightly. On the stage, at the studio, when he’d softly croon himself to sleep, within semblances of unsullied magnificence that lingered in his mind.</p><p>Jisung would remember hearing chattering over their past feuds, he’d remember how his stubbornness would blind him from admitting to his mistakes, he’d remember how within his cavernous feelings, he wanted to maintain a rift between himself and Hyunjin because the latter was a stunning pearl sat within a shining oyster, between beds of kelp and amongst schools of lively fish. Even within such depths, his beauty could be depicted from miles and miles away.</p><p>And if Jisung had offered that pearl even a sliver of a touch, it’d bury itself within the ocean’s sediments so deeply that his shine would be obscured.</p><p>Felix was right. Jisung didn’t want to hear how Hyunjin had been doing, because he knew it would not sound lovely, because he’d known that he’d already inflicted great bouts of pain over the taller, shinier boy.</p><p>Second thoughts? Jisung doesn’t think so. If presenting Hyunjin with a song that held utmost authenticity meant that, at the very least, closure could be maintained, Jisung was content. If presenting Hyunjin with a song that depicted a perpetual desire for more meant that he’d evade his assertions, Jisung would be fine.</p><p>He’d be fine. Maybe not right away, but he’d learn to be fine.</p><p>The bus had felt empty that day, Jisung thinks, when he’d drawn a heavy breath over the surface of the window his head had been leaning over, even as it rattled and struck him. The bus had crowded, for it’d been midday on a poignant Saturday, but it’d felt empty. Han Jisung had been adorned in his thickest beanie and bulkier coat, but he’d still felt cold.</p><p>It’d been hard to manipulate the mind to feel so alight when its heart had felt so isolated, Jisung thinks, eyes strained over the warm fog on his window as it faded and coincidentally unconcealed a faint rainbow in the distance.</p><p>Yes, Jisung verifies after blinking again, and then again. A rainbow, daubed over using the sky’s haziest dyes,  for it’d been raining that morning. He distinctly remembers nearly stepping over a puddle of the muddy downpour on his trek to the bus stop,one reddening leaf strewn within its small pool of sorrow.</p><p>This rainbow had represented a healthy balance of every wavelength of light it reflected upon. No colour stood over the other, even if it ordinarily shone brighter.</p><p>Jisung doesn’t tear his eyes away from that rainbow for the remainder of the bus ride, even as it edged out of view, it remains within the eyes of his mind and is reflected just as acutely fuzzy. Even as Jisung had thanked the driver, walked over muddled pavements, eyes drawn into its cracks, through which greens peeked out and its spindly leaves swayed with the wind, as if engaged in mutual restoration.</p><p>Even as he almost shuffles past a nearby alleyway before stopping upon catching sight of the stray cats that loitered around it. Even as he takes the time to crouch down by a pair of calicos that’d been pressed up against one another and offered them affectionate pats, their muddled hair gliding past his palm with ease while they mewled into the increasingly warm zephyr.</p><p>Even as he feels a whiff of new air draw over his relaxed features. Even as he walks past muddles of people, friends, couples, families, admiring the mall’s newly decorated space – Halloween had been mere weeks away.</p><p>Jisung’s grip on the guitar case and handy satchel within either of his grasps tighten significantly whenever he finally lands just within the vicinity of the shop that’d become the source of one of his greatest discoveries. He sends Seungmin’s uncle one polite nod, allowing the lyrics and the melodies that had currently been housed comfortably and securely within the broad space in his bag, to roam within its walls, bouncing its verve throughout its borders keenly.</p><p>It eases his worries even more, despite the rough thumping of his heart. Perhaps it’d be good to receive the reminder that his heart could still beat, that his legs could still push him forward.</p><p>Although, Jisung isn’t entirely sure why, as he rounds the last corner, shuffling through the hallway that would wind up taking him to the very room where his heart would be displayed so readily, the image of a rainbow grows less hazy in his mind’s eye. Why, although he’s only expecting the mischievous pair he’s learned to love like brothers, his heart beats so, so rapidly.</p><p>Be still, my racing heart. Be ready, my steely inhibitions.</p><p>But Jisung isn’t ready, nor is his heart still. For when the door manages to crack open and his eyes finally peer through it again for the first time in 9 days that dragged on ruthlessly, a rainbow-infused figure stands at the forefront of his view.</p><p>Hwang Hyunjin is the room’s only resident, and he sits by the corner they’d usually take up, his eyes half-lidded, as if destiny had joined Jisung’s arrival from where its surface was spattered with a multi-coloured daydream. The room’s light strikes the height of his cheeks where rouge had been delicately swiped, the gleam of his dolly lips where a buttery, cherry finish had been transferred, the flecks of sunlight woven through clumps of flaxen hair.</p><p>Hwang Hyunjin must be the room’s only illumination supplier, for in Jisung’s eyes, he sparkles much clearer than the few lights overhead. His eyes, too, when his lids lift, emulate the blistering sun that knows no enemy.</p><p>It’s his tantalizing lure that prohibits Jisung from submitting to his usual cues, from running away at the first sight of confrontation. Neither of them move, anyways, not when it’d been too long since they’d caught sight of one another outside of the constraining dreams that never vivified its imagery quite enough.</p><p>Hyunjin’s gaze doesn’t hold malice, nor fury, nor discontent, and Jisung can’t figure out why. Even though he doesn’t look to be expecting his arrival, just as much as Jisung had been expecting to prop the door open and find his two bandmates behind it.  </p><p>And it confuses Jisung, more than he’d like to admit, when the plan had felt so clear, so concise. He’d practically been preparing for his future rejection, for the moment he’ll see Hyunjin again, likely in decrepit fury, but it wouldn’t matter how outraged he’d be at him because at least he’d see him.</p><p>‘I’m sorry,’ Jisung’s practiced monologue had instantaneously died in his throat, where it’d been stored over piles of restricting cotton. The fuel in his veins seemed to have drowned them out.</p><p>‘I’m so, so sorry. God, I’m…I can’t even express to you how infuriated I am at myself, for what I said, for…for how I act, for how I get when I’m with you.’</p><p>Again, even as Jisung feels his items drop to the floor with a gentle<em> thump </em>, and the door closes behind him, Hyunjin’s eyes hold no malevolence. Not even a shred.</p><p>‘You’re…you should be infuriated at me too, you should be so mad, you should…I don’t deserve to even stand in front of you, right now.’ Jisung’s heart drops its protective shield. He’d anticipated so, but not quite like this.</p><p>‘Stop.’ Hyunjin’s response comes quick. Still, even as his eyes run over Jisung’s familiar figure, there’s no malice.</p><p>‘Please stop. We’ve both…I mean, I’ve surely said a lot of things I didn’t mean and…sure you’re a little dumb, but so am I. Guess we’re both similar in that sense.’ Hyunjin’s tone is light-hearted, albeit a little tense. But there’s no malice.</p><p>‘Do you hate me?’ Jisung’s feet push him forward before he can oppose the movement, his items trailing with him, and he takes the seat by a sombre keyboard, to the right of Hyunjin’s silent figure. He doesn’t oppose it, miraculously.</p><p>‘I never have,’ Hyunjin shakes his head, eyes a multitude of shaded tints amidst a hollowed stare into the distant nowhere ‘perhaps it would’ve seemed so, but I never have. Hatred is too…,’</p><p>‘Strong.’ Jisung decidedly finishes, latently smiling when Hyunjin nods back in assenting agreeability ‘I’ve never hated you either. It’s entirely the opposite now, too.’</p><p>Jisung’s breath hitched under his thoughtless words, but perhaps the sight of Hyunjin’s curious gaze had been enough to convince him to throw caution to the wind. He’d do it. He’d have to.</p><p>‘I might as well do this now,’ Jisung mumbles the former part to, more so, himself, his mental persuasions spilling out momentarily. His hands reach for his guitar case before another breath could be caught and once his acoustic guitar is back under its familiar hold, Jisung’s eyes draw from its solid, worn surface adorned with a multitude of stickers to Hyunjin’s ever-inquiring features.</p><p>Barely a breath, as Jisung signals a start and begins strumming away. Just as it always did, his heart jumps, wavers, whispers with the brisk strings of his guitar, and it’s not too long until he finally starts gushing out the song’s memorized prolixity.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Jisung hadn’t gotten to practice in front of a tiny audience like he’d hoped, hadn’t gotten to refurbish elements of the song, or any of what he’d planned for the day, before the song could ever reach Hyunjin. But perhaps that was the way it should’ve been from the start.</p><p>A raw depiction of Jisung’s truest feelings, that was what Jisung had spouted onto paper all those days ago, and that was exactly what needed to be depicted to Hyunjin. It’s enough motivation to continue playing as naturally as he’d been accustomed to, when Hyunjin stares back into his own eyes with so much blinding intent and compassion and they’re able to meet in the grey middle, where gemstones glisten for eternity.</p><p>It’s definitely enough, even as he delves into the chorus and his voice reaches highs and rhythmic complacencies that he’d been too wary to undertake during mellow practice sessions – stuffed animals as audience members.</p><p>It’s definitely enough, because Hyunjin’s never looked as stunning as when he’s become the victim of a sincere serenading that dulls their senses so far back into obscurity that neither of them can feel how their racing hearts thrash against their chests, still.</p><p>Till the very end, their mutual gapes do not waver. To the very last note, and even seconds after Jisung’s fingers halt their stringing musicality, there’s an extrinsic silence but an intrinsic din, instigated by a flyover of earnest inauguration.</p><p>‘Close,’ Jisung finally halts their din, eyes glossing over, although unbeknownst to him, it does not fail to catch Hyunjin’s sights ‘the song’s name. It’s for you.’</p><p>‘It’s <em> for me </em>?’</p><p>Jisung struggles to respond, although a genuine answer wouldn’t have been too difficult to search for. Hyunjin’s sheer bafflement seemed to have done it; it’d been stupid, right? Forgiveness was one thing, but Jisung hadn’t expected to hold onto hope within the realms of accepting his abiding confessionals.</p><p>‘Y-yeah?’</p><p>‘A song. You wrote that beautiful song, for me?’</p><p>Jisung gulps. Again, Hyunjin’s eyes naturally seem to fall over the bob of his heart-shaped Adam’s apple. Han Jisung had been unique in that he didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, but in his throat.</p><p>‘That’s…I just can’t fathom that you could make something so wonderful <em> for me </em>.’ Hyunjin reiterates, hoping that his words convey bafflement without discouraging Jisung’s sublime art.</p><p>Jisung’s shock is only very short-lived for the fact that it’s replaced by fear whenever Hyunjin leaps to ruffle through the contents of his bag, just a few feet away from them, situated over a sturdy table. For a few moments, all Jisung hears is the clank of moving objects while Hyunjin rummages for what he’d been keen on finding, before he finally pulls something out, grin expanding.</p><p>It’s his small lyric notebook, Jisung notes, one that had drastically differed from Jisung’s in that it’d clearly been much more well-coordinated and miniature in size while Jisung’s somehow looked bigger than A4 and bulked in shape from the number of notes and tabs peeking out of its crisp pages, as well as the pictures he’d occasionally slid in for inspiration.</p><p>Quickly, Hyunjin situates himself back into his seat while leafing through his small hardback, humming in content once he reaches a page containing a large, red header and rows of blackened text, certain words outlined or circled from correspondence with annotations at either side of the page.</p><p>Rainbow. It’d been entitled rainbow.</p><p>‘What’s–,’ Jisung almost leaps out of his seat when Hyunjin shushes him, raising a finger to his lips for emphasis.</p><p>‘Read the lyrics first. I want you to read them first.’</p><p>
  
</p><p>So he does. Jisung’s eyes readily drink in every single word, every single highlight, every single annotation for preference of a deeper understanding. Skimming wouldn’t fly with him, and the sentiment is only reaffirmed through the very words clouding his sanities.</p><p>Hyunjin’s lines, verses, overflow of emotions intermingle seamlessly into its overarching narrative of love and its subsequent devotions. Perhaps devotions towards Hyunjin’s verve for storytelling, or his habit of attaching to others, to hold, to feel, to convey seamlessly. Because Jisung had always felt like he hadn’t been the type to possess a proficient emotional intelligence. Hyunjin had; incidentally, he’d worn his heart on his sleeve.</p><p>‘Hyunjin…these lyrics are gorgeous. When did you write this?’ Jisung eventually peers away from the book, back at its crafter. Unsurprisingly, he appears just as dazzling as his art.</p><p>‘Few days ago,’ Hyunjin hums to himself ‘the song itself is a work in progress but…well, would you like to hear the melody I’ve constructed so far?’ The boy had been so knee-deep into a glittering thrill that Jisung’s unawareness of the song’s muse had completely evaded his senses.</p><p>The pair prolong their shared symphonic understanding for quite some time, it’d felt like they’d naturally fallen back under the routine they’d readily adopted now; the annunciation of the intrinsic understanding of ‘now’ felt ironic to the strange pair.</p><p>For so long, in fact, that Hyunjin and Jisung had managed to perfect a standing melody for Hyunjin’s song in mere…minutes, hours, did it matter?</p><p>A strum of red followed by a strum of black and white.</p><p>Jisung remembers garnering stars in his eyes upon gazing back up at the likes of one of his greatest role models, shredding his rigid guitar. An aged guitar, but that was what made it special.</p><p>Hyunjin remembers peeling his hearing aid despite its assistance for preference of relying on the vibrations that echo over his nimble fingers. A guitar that had yet to age, but maintained all uniqueness, nevertheless.</p><p>Any vessel could if it were treated with enough love, with enough respect.</p><p>It’s the exact thought that echoes over the expanses of Hyunjin’s mind while it dulled its other senses for favour of feeling the reverberation of Jisung’s laughter. That exact thought when he finally utters:</p><p>‘It’s about you. I wrote a song for you too.’</p><p>Complacency. For two hearts had finally conjoined again.</p><p>-ˋˏ ˚ ₊ˑ🎤ˑ₊ ˚ ˎˊ-</p><p>The day’s course had run by through nothing short of a hecticness that could be felt all over. Within daytime practice, within bated breaths, within muffled humming, within instrument tuning, within the ongoing cheering and bustling of crowds that had begun filing into their seats much before any of them would’ve ordinarily anticipated.</p><p>The ground shook with a hollowed exhilaration, the very air engulfing them thrummed along with it. Customarily, the school’s most anticipated performers, SKZ, had, for the most part, been too busy worrying over technicalities to feed off of the energy in the atmosphere.</p><p>Jisung had almost run late. Almost. Although he can’t say there’d been much time to begin explaining himself before everyone – including students who worked as crew members –, had shushed his reasons away for normality of his tardiness.</p><p>In fact, such normalcy does not make him worried to justify himself, even as he meets Chan’s gaze from where the boy had been getting his makeup touched up in front of a cluttered vanity; the gaze reads ‘I expected this from you, but seriously, again?’</p><p>No, it had been Hyunjin, once again, that had managed to break his general uncaringness. Hyunjin, who upon finally catching sight of him glancing into their waiting room after finally getting changed, heaves himself out of his chair and pulls the shorter boy into a hug that neither restricts too tightly nor clutches too lightly. Never had Hyunjin’s hugs fallen anywhere under perfect.</p><p>‘I’m so glad you’re here. The traffic was getting crazy, you had me worried.’</p><p>Ah yes, that had definitely made him feel bad.</p><p>‘Yo, sorry to break a reunion even though you saw each other hours ago, but Ji, you need to get your makeup on now. I know how long your ass can take.’ Changbin shrieks from the other side of the room, only momentarily breaking into a ‘subtle’ smile when he hears Seungmin begin to serenade the room – I mean, practice.</p><p> Jisung scoffs pointedly, trudging over to an empty vanity and thanking Hyunjin when he takes his makeup bag out for him<em> . </em> He does <em> not </em> take that long.</p><p>No, he definitely doesn’t, but Hyunjin’s persistent eyes make it exuberantly hard not to minimise his pace every few moments ‘What? Is it not looking alright, so far?’</p><p>‘Not at all! Your makeup always looks lovely. It’s just…,’ Hyunjin puffs out a heavy sigh before continuing, as if questioning if he’d even wanted to admit it ‘you have a cute mole on your cheek that you usually cover up. I mean, I didn’t even know it existed for years. Anyways, it doesn’t matter–,’</p><p>‘I’ll leave it unconcealed today, then.’ Jisung decides, not a single waver in sight as he raises a wipe and decidedly rubs at the spot where his mole would be, offering the red-faced boy next to him a curt smile.</p><p>Showcase preparations, although seeming doomed for some time within the chaos that was Hyunjin and Jisung’s mysterious relationship dynamics, had passed by smoothly and with amazing precision from all fronts. Till now, none of the duos had heard the entirety of any of their sets; small snippets, but even through those, an astounding show had been guaranteed instantaneously.</p><p>All most of the group members knew of Felix and Jeongin’s duet, was that it’d been cleverly entitled ‘Peach’, for whatever reason, and included a symphonic merging of two keyboard cultures – Felix’s own words. They’d each been adorned in matching peach sweaters and unharmed, denim overalls. The bright red in Felix’s hair had conveniently faded into an exuberant peachy tint that boded quite well with Jeongin’s faded blue.</p><p>Changbin and Seungmin had, like another bonded pair, decided to mismatch their outfits completely. Changbin’s all-black ensemble had been a great contrast from Seungmin’s sweater-plaid combo, but it’d been admittedly adorable to see so well engaged into their honeymoon phase under the pretence of lightness and darkness – the sun and the moon, if you will.</p><p>Chan and Minho hadn’t had any reason to match, seeing as Minho’s role clearly constituted for displaying a killer dance performance, while Chan probably takes on the role of a DJ somewhere within visible site of the audience. Still, whether intentionally or not, they’d both grasped onto the withering spirit of dark concepts and dressed in all black.</p><p>Hyunjin and Jisung had mulled over outfit choices for a great amount of time before ultimately taking a route similar to that of Changbin and Seungmin’s. That is, deciding to wear the choices that had been debated upon by either party; Chan had finally suggested it after hearing the pair’s bickering resurface and enduring very intense déjà vu.</p><p>Hyunjin’s beauty had been embellished in a pair of blue mom jeans, the length of which had been scattered with several rips and colourful patches, as well as a distressed, blue-and-white striped, cropped sweater worn over a delicate, sheer undershirt. Not that Jisung was particularly lingering on it, but the sweater had been lazily draped off of one shoulder, risen up one side, leaving his waist practically exposed to the air, seeing as the undershirt left little to the imagination.</p><p>Jisung had similarly worn a diaphanous, netted undershirt that hugged the length of Jisung’s tattoo-coated arms – again, Hyunjin had been admiring their artistry, that was all – an oversized, black t-shirt that wonderfully summated his anarchist agenda through its pink adornments and leather pants that Hyunjin had to avidly ponder over the comfortability of.</p><p>They’d practically looked like polar opposites, but perhaps that would be the charm of their performance, the facets of which had been reviewed by a distressed Han Jisung repeatedly, the second he’d landed within a secluded room that was supposed to offer him a breather.</p><p>‘Jisung?’</p><p>Said boy perks up instantly, which in and of itself had been unusual, seeing as he’d commonly redirect blighted complaints towards any person that dared disturb him during ‘Jisung Time’. Yet again, Hyunjin proves to differ from the pack.</p><p>‘Hm?’ Jisung decidedly hums, tracing the length of his eye’s perceptions over Hyunjin’s moving figure yet again, hearing his misguided confidence deflate whenever the taller boy stops in his tracks, right in front of him. The Halloween-themed streamers and balloons standing just over them seem to set a certain tone that Jisung can’t say he’s very opposed to.</p><p>‘You’re worried over nothing, you know? You’ve sounded amazing within every practice session and will probably shine even brighter once you’re up on stage.’ Hyunjin offers a sincere grin, the light catching the glitter speckles in his cheeks and lids extraordinarily. Jisung didn’t think a pearl could gleam even brighter.</p><p>‘I know. I just…I want to make sure it goes well for the audience and for you, too,’ Jisung’s eyes are colour-bound ‘I’m not saying that you add an extra pressure, but I genuinely want to perform as best as I can because I know how hard you’ve worked. Especially since you’ve written a big chunk of the song, and I just want to make sure that it’s sung and portrayed exactly as you intended–,’</p><p>It seemed like Jisung’s ramblings would find no end in sight, especially as his gaze had fallen back down onto his hands that moved uncontrollably amid his, admittedly, endearing tangents.</p><p>As endearing as they’d been, Hyunjin’s patience had worn so thin that one could say it’d become non-existent. Which is why he’d given it absolutely no thought before cutting Jisung’s verbose trailing off by finally verifying what flavour Chapstick he wore.</p><p>Strawberry, he realizes, within the second that their peck had lasted, and he hastens to pull away before his mind could discern anything from Jisung’s frozen state of shock.</p><p>‘Ah, I’m sorry, Minho put this little decoration up,’ Hyunjin points over their heads, where within the aforementioned decorative pieces, hung a tiny, plastic bat that swung over their heads like a bell ‘he joked that it would be like a mistletoe, but like, Halloween version, and I told him that was very dumb, but you know, I thought it would be nice to actually make use of it so he doesn’t end up gloomy or something–,’</p><p>It’d been Jisung’s turn to shut Hyunjin up. The fake, Halloween mistletoe is discarded from interests quickly when Jisung rings his lips back over Hyunjin’s. Properly, this time, he’ll do it properly.</p><p>Hyunjin doesn’t even realise he’d practically begun shivering until he feels Jisung place either hand over his sides, where he’d keenly felt the press of his rings just over the gossamer material of his undershirt. But, no, not even the multitude of rings on Jisung’s fingers could equate to the notion of his lip ring compressed against his own lips.</p><p>Its cold metal contrasted greatly with the heated surface of his puffed, reddening lips, and it hadn’t helped at all that Jisung had been keen on reverting to and from him in sporadic motions that lengthened in weight the more they’d drowned under an astute stagger.</p><p>Hyunjin’s mind practically numbs for favour of directing the attention of each and every one of his senses, towards that of Han Jisung.</p><p>Touch, through which his fingers feverishly run a course of benighted influence that dawdles its traces over the boy’s, hitherto, muddled hair.</p><p>Sight, through which a puddle of rainwater peaks into view, yet to be vaporized to settle into the sky’s cumulus clouds, its surface reflecting a picturesque rainbow, a fuzzy figure woven within the blue and the grey of the sky it sits within.</p><p>Hearing, through which Hyunjin listens to the verve of Jisung’s heartbeat against his own, an established safety in that they’ve confided in one another instigated eagerly.</p><p>Smell, for Jisung had always carried a signature one, had always carried its pungency around, had constantly submerged himself within Hyunjin’s diluted sensations.</p><p>Finally, taste. Hyunjin could taste the strawberry polish on Jisung’s lips. Hyunjin could taste his haunting hesitancies. Hyunjin could taste the veracity of his heart’s contents. Hyunjin could taste his red, his blue, his pink, his violet, his orange, his yellow.</p><p>There’d been no reason to worry for tonight’s performance, no reason at all. Not when Jisung’s eyes would stick to Hyunjin’s and Hyunjin’s would stick to Jisung’s. Not when their multi-coloured hearts would beat in tandem with the twanging of guitar rumbling through the vivacious air.</p><p>There’d been no reason to worry, Jisung realises, as he holds Hyunjin impossibly close, as his breath falls under a graceful whisper that intones: ‘I’m in love with you, Hwang Hyunjin.’ </p><p>
  
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  <strong>◛↷ Concluding Pieces.</strong>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>and there we have it ! a total encirclement of what happens when my brain decides to coalesce two of the best probable au and trope ideas i could've ever made up for a good hyunsung fic ! <br/>this is some of the most fun i've ever had with the fic, outside of being able to make borderline terrible edits, these characters will stick with me <br/>you can catch me on <a href="https://twitter.com/blues3ung?s=20">twitter !</a> <br/>(where you just might find this same au under my pinned with some bonus material)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if you guys ever feel like my musical comparisons/metaphors are weird it's because i can't play any to save my life !!!!!! <br/>i could very well be the emo bass player i've always strived to be but here we are instead, writing about characters i can project on !</p></blockquote></div></div>
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